3 1822 01182 0875
 
 (LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 I SAN DIEGO
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 OF. CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO 
 
 PS 

 
 NOBODY 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 "Let me see; What think you of falling In love?" 
 
 As You Like H 
 
 BOSTON 
 DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO. 
 
 361 AND 365 WASHINGTON STREET
 
 Copyright, i88a, 
 Sv ROBERT CARTHR & BROTHBV.
 
 NOTICE TO READER. 
 
 The following is again a true story of 
 real life. For character and colouring, no 
 doubt, I am responsible ; but the facts are 
 facts. 
 
 Martlar's Rock, 
 Aug: p. i88a.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CMAf. PAG1 
 
 1. WHO IS SHE? 9 
 
 II. AT BREAKFAST . . . . . . 1 8 
 
 III. A LUNCHEON PARTY . . . . . 2J 
 
 IV. ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY . . . 41 
 V. IN COUNCIL ....... 56 
 
 VI. HAPPINESS . . . . . . 65 
 
 VII. THE WORTH OF THINGS . . . 8 1 
 
 VIII. MRS. ARMADALE ..... 93 
 
 IX. THE FAMILY . . . . . . IO7 
 
 X. LOIS'S GARDEN 119 
 
 XL SUMMER MOVEMENTS 133 
 
 XII. APPLEDORE 15! 
 
 XIII. A SUMMER HOTEL . . . . .162 
 
 XIV. WATCHED . . . . . .174 
 
 XV. TACTICS . . . . . . .196 
 
 xvi. MRS. MARX'S OPINION .... 208 
 
 XVII. TOM'S DECISION 221 
 
 KVIII. MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN . . . . 233 
 
 XIX. NEWS . . . . . . . .248 
 
 XX. SHAMPUASHUH . . . . . .259 
 
 XXL GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS . . . . .276 
 
 XXII. LEARNING ...... 298 
 
 KXIII. A BREAKFAST TABLE ..... 309 
 
 XXIV. THE CARPENTER . . . . .32! 
 
 XXV. ROAST PIG ....... 338 
 
 (7)
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XXVI. SCRUPLES 
 
 XXVII. PEAS AND RADISHES . 
 
 XXVIII. THE LAGOON OF VENICE 
 
 XXIX. AN OX CART . 
 
 XXX. POETRY . . . 
 
 XXXI. LONG CLAMS . 
 
 XXXII. A VISITER . 
 
 XXXIII. THE VALUE OF MONEY 
 
 XXXIV. UNDER AN UMBRELLA . 
 XXXV. OPINIONS . 
 
 XXXVI. TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS . 
 
 XXXVII. AN OYSTER SUPPER . 
 
 XXXVIII. BREAKING UP . . 
 
 XXXIX. LUXURY . . . 
 
 XL. ATTENTIONS . . . 
 
 XLI. CHESS . . . 
 
 XLII. RULES . . . 
 
 XLIII. ABOUT WORK . 
 
 XLIV. CHOOSING A WIFK . . 
 
 XLV. DUTY . . . 
 
 XLVI. OFF AND ON . . 
 
 XLVII. PLANS 
 
 XLVIII. ANNOUNCEMENTS . . 
 
 XLIX. ON THE PASS . 
 
 352 
 S^S 
 378 
 
 393 
 
 405 
 420 
 434 
 
 445 
 457 
 
 476 
 
 488 
 504 
 
 5*9 
 532 
 546 
 562 
 573 
 585 
 
 599 
 617 
 629 
 646 
 66c 
 675
 
 NOBODY. 
 
 .oc.So~ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHO IS SHE? 
 
 " n^OM, who was that girl you were so taken 
 
 1 with last night?" 
 
 " Wasn't particularly taken last night with any- 
 body." 
 
 Which practical falsehood the gentleman escaped 
 from by a. mental reservation, saying to himself 
 that it was not last night that he was " taken." 
 
 " I mean the girl you had so much to do with. 
 Come, Tom ! " 
 
 "I hadn't much to do with her. I had to be 
 civil to somebody. She was the easiest." 
 
 " Who is she, Tom ? " 
 
 "Her name is Lothrop." 
 
 " you tedious boy ! I know what her name is, 
 for I was introduced to her, and Mrs. Wishart spoke 
 so I could not help but understand her; but I mean 
 something else, and you know I do. Who is she ? 
 And where does she come from ?" 
 
 "She is a cousin of Mrs. Wishart; and she comes 
 from the country somewhere."
 
 10 NOBODY. 
 
 " One can see that" 
 
 " How can you ? " the brother asked rather fiercely. 
 
 " You see it as well as I do," the sister returned 
 coolly. " Her dress shews it" 
 
 " I didn't notice anything about her dress." 
 
 " You are a man." 
 
 "Well, you women dress for the men. If you 
 only knew a thing or two, you would dress dif- 
 ferently." 
 
 "That will do ! You would not take me any- 
 where, if I dressed like Miss Lothrop." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said the young man, stop- 
 ping short in his walk up and down the floor; 
 " she can afford to do without your advantages ! " 
 
 "Mamma!" appealed the sister now to a third 
 member of the party, "do you hear? Tom has 
 lost his head." 
 
 The lady addressed sat busy with newspapers, 
 at a table a little withdrawn from the fire; a lady 
 in fresh middle age, and comely to look at. The 
 daughter, not comely, but sensible-looking, sat in 
 the glow of the fireshine, doing nothing. Both 
 were extremely well dressed, if " well" means in the 
 fashion and in rich stuffs and with no sparing of 
 money or care. The elder woman looked up from 
 her studies now for a moment, with the remark, 
 that she did not care about Tom's head, if he would 
 keep his heart. 
 
 "But that is just precisely what he will not do, 
 niamiri Tom can't keep anything, his heart least 
 of all And this girl mamma, I tell you he is in
 
 WHO is SHE? 11 
 
 danger. Tom, how many times have you been to 
 see her ? " 
 
 " I don't go to see her; 1 go to see Mrs. Wishart." 
 
 "Oh! and you see Miss Lothrop by accident! 
 Well, how many times, Tom ? Three four five " 
 
 " Don't be ridiculous ! " the brother struck in. 
 " Of course a fellow goes whore he can amuse him- 
 self and have the best time; and Mrs. Wishart keeps 
 a pleasant house." 
 
 " Especially lately. Well, Tom, take care ! it won't 
 do. I warn you." 
 
 "What won't do?" angrily. 
 
 " This girl ; not for our family. Not for you, Tom. 
 She hasn't anything, and she isn't anybody; and 
 it will not do for you to marry in that way. If 
 your fortune was ready made to your hand, or if 
 you were established in your profession and at the 
 top of it, why, perhaps you might be justified in 
 pleasing yourself; but as it is, don't, Tom ! Be a 
 good boy, and dont!" 
 
 " My dear, he will not," said the elder lady here. 
 "Tom is wiser than you give him credit for." 
 
 " I don't give any man credit for being wise 
 mamma, when a pretty face is in question. And 
 this girl has a pretty face; she is very pretty. 
 But she has no style; she is as poor as a mouse; 
 she knows nothing of the world; and to crown all, 
 Tom, she's one of the religious sort. Think of that! 
 One of the real religious sort, you know. Think 
 how that would fit." 
 
 "What sort are you?" asked her brother.
 
 12 NOBODY. 
 
 " Not that sort, Tom, and you aren't either. 
 
 " How do you know she is?" 
 
 " Very easy," said the girl coolly. " She told me 
 hersel" 
 
 "She told yon I" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " simply enough. 1 was confessing that Sun- 
 day is such a fearfully long day to me, and I did 
 not know what to do with it; and she looked at 
 me as if I were a poor heathen which I suppose 
 she thought me and said, 'But there is always 
 the Bible!' Fancy !' always the Bible.' So I 
 knew in a moment where to place her." 
 
 " I don't think religion hurts a woman," said the 
 young man. 
 
 " Bat you do not want her to have too much of 
 it " the mother remarked, without looking up 
 from her paper. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by too much, 
 mother. I'd as lief she found Sunday short as long. 
 By her own shewing, Julia has the worst of it." 
 
 " Mamma ! speak to him," urged the girl. 
 
 " No need, my dear, I think. Tom isn't a fool." 
 
 "Any man is, when he is in love, mamma." 
 
 Tom came and stood by the mantelpiece, con- 
 fronting them. He was a remarkably handsome 
 young man; tall, well formed, very well dressed, 
 hair and moustaches carefully trimmed, and fea 
 tures of regular thqugh manly beauty, with an ex- 
 pression of genial kindness and courtesy.
 
 WHO is SHE? 18 
 
 "I am not in love," he said half laughing. "But 
 I will tell you, I never saw a nicer girl than Lois 
 Lothrop. And I think all that you say about her 
 being poor, and all that, is just bosh." 
 
 The newspapers went down. 
 
 "My dear boy, Julia is right. I should be very 
 sorry to see you hurt your career and injure your 
 chances by choosing a girl who would give you no 
 sort of help. And you would regret it yourself, 
 when it was too late. You would be certain to re- 
 gret it. You could not help but regret it." 
 
 " I am not going to do it. But why should I 
 regret it ? " 
 
 "You know why, as well as I do. Such a girl 
 would not be a good wife for you. She would be a 
 millstone round your neck." 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Tom thought she would be a pleas- 
 ant millstone in those circumstances; but he only 
 remarked that he believed the lady in question 
 would be a good wife for whoever could get 
 her. 
 
 " Well, not for you. You can have anybody you 
 want to, Tom; and you may just as well have 
 money and family as well as beauty. It is a very 
 bad thing for a girl not to have family. That de- 
 prives her husband of a great advantage ; and be- 
 sides, saddles upon him often most undesirable 
 burdens in the shape of brothers and sisters, and 
 nephews perhaps. What is this girl's family, do 
 you know ? " 
 
 " Respectable," said Tom, " or she would not be
 
 14 NOBODY. 
 
 a cousin of Mrs. Wi shark And that makes her a 
 cousin of Edward's wife." 
 
 " My dear, everybody has cousins; and people are 
 not responsible for them. She is a poor relation, 
 whom Mrs. Wishart has here for the purpose of be- 
 friending her; she'll marry her off if she can; and 
 you would do as well as another. Indeed you 
 would do splendidly; but the advantage would be 
 all on their side; and that is what I do not wish 
 for you." 
 
 Tom was silent. His sister remarked that Mrs. 
 Wishart really was not a match-maker. 
 
 " No more than everybody is ; it is no harm ; of 
 course she would like to see this little girl well 
 married. Is she educated? Accomplished?" 
 
 "Tom can tell," said the daughter. "I never 
 saw her do anything. What can she do, Tom?" 
 
 "Do?" said Tom, flaring up. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Can she play?" 
 
 " No, and I am glad she can't. If ever there was 
 a bore, it is the performances of you young ladies 
 on the piano. It's just to shew what you can do. 
 Who cares, except the music master?" 
 
 " Does she sing ? " 
 
 ' I don't know ! " 
 
 " Can she speak French ? " 
 
 "French!" cried Tom. "Who wants her to 
 gpeak French? We talk English in this country." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, we often have to use French 
 or some other language, there are so many foreigners
 
 WHO is SHE? 15 
 
 that one meets in society. And a lady must know 
 French at least. Does she know anything?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Tom. "I have no doubt 
 she does. I haven't tried her. How much, do you 
 suppose, do girls in general know? girls with ever 
 so much money and family? And who cares how 
 much they know? One does not seek a lady's 
 society for the purpose of being instructed." 
 
 " One might, and get no harm," said the sister 
 softly; but Tom flung out of the room. "Mamma, 
 it is serious." 
 
 "Do you think so?" asked the elder lady, now 
 thrusting aside all her papers. 
 
 " I am sure of it. And if we do not do some 
 thing we shall all be sorry for it." 
 
 "What is this girl, Julia? Is she pretty?" 
 
 Julia hesitated. "Yes," she said. "I suppose 
 the men would call her so." 
 
 "You don't?" 
 
 "Well, yes, mamma; she is pretty, handsome, 
 in a way; though she has not the least bit of style; 
 not the least bit! She is rather peculiar; and I sup- 
 pose with the men that is one of her attractions." 
 
 " Peculiar ho w ? " said the mother, looking anxious. 
 
 "I cannot tell; it is indefinable. And yet it is 
 very marked. Just that want of style makes her 
 peculiar." 
 
 "Awkward?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Not awkward. How then ? Shy? " 
 
 "No."
 
 16 NOBODY. 
 
 " How, then, Julia? What is she like? " 
 
 " It is hard to tell in words what people are like. 
 She is plainly dressed, but not badly ; Mrs. Wishart 
 would see to that; so it isn't exactly her dress that 
 makes her want of style. She has a very good 
 figure; uncommonly good. Then she has most 
 beautiful hair, mamma; a full head of bright brown 
 hair, that would be auburn if it were a shade or 
 two darker; and it is somewhat wavy and curly, 
 and heaps itself around her head in a way that is 
 like a picture. She don't dress it in the fashion ; I 
 don't believe there is a hairpin in it, and I am sure 
 there isn't a cushion, or anything ; only this bright 
 brown hair puffing and waving and curling itself 
 together in some inexplicable way, that would be 
 very pretty if it were not so altogether out of the 
 way that everybody else wears. Then there is a 
 sweet, pretty face under it; but you can see at the 
 first look that she was never born or brought up 
 in New York or any other city, and knows just 
 nothing about the world." 
 
 "Dangerous!" said the mother, knitting her 
 brows. 
 
 "Yes; for just that sort of thing is taking to the 
 men ; and they don't look any further. And Tom 
 above all. I tell you, he is smitten, mamma. And 
 he goes to Mrs. Wishart's with a regularity which 
 is appalling." 
 
 " Tom takes things hard, too," said the mother, 
 
 " Foolish boy ! " was the sister's comment. 
 
 " What can be done ? "
 
 WHO is SHE? 17 
 
 " I'll tell you, mamma. I've been thinking. Your 
 health will never stand the March winds in New 
 York. You must go somewhere." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Florida, for instance ? " 
 
 " I should like it very well." 
 
 " It would be better anyhow than to let Tom get 
 hopelessly entangled." 
 
 "Anything would be better than that." 
 
 "And prevention is better than cure. You can't 
 apply a cure, besides. When a man like Tom, or 
 any man, once gets a thing of this sort in his head, 
 it is hopeless. He'll go through thick and thin, and 
 take time to repent afterwards. Men are so stupid ! " 
 
 " Women sometimes." 
 
 "Not I, mamma; if you mean me. I hope for the 
 credit of your discernment you don't." 
 
 "Lent will begin soon," observed the elder lady 
 presently. 
 
 "Lent will not make any difference with Tom," 
 returned the daughter. "And little parties are 
 more dangerous than big ones." 
 
 " What shall I do about the party we were going 
 to give ? I should be obliged to ask Mrs. Wishart." 
 
 " I'll tell you, mamma," Julia said after a little 
 thinking. " Let it be a luncheon party ; and get 
 Tom to go down into the country that day. And 
 then go off to Florida, both of you."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 
 
 " [TOW do you like New York, Lois? You have 
 1 1 been here long enough to judge of us now ? " 
 "Havel?" 
 
 Mrs. Wishart and her guest being at breakfast, 
 this question and answer go over the table. It is 
 not exactly in New York however. That is, it is 
 within the city bounds, but not yet among the city 
 buildings. Some little distance out of town, with 
 green fields about it, and trees, and lawn sloping 
 down to the river bank, and a view of the Jersey 
 shore on the other side. The breakfast room win- 
 dows look out over this view, upon which the winter 
 sun is shining; and green fields stand in beautiful 
 illumination,' with patches of sno'w lying herd and 
 there. Snow is not on the lawn however. Mrs. 
 NVishart's is a handsome old house, not according to 
 the latest fashion, either in itself or its fitting up; 
 both are of a simpler style than anybody of any pre- 
 tension would choose now-a-days; but Mrs. Wishart 
 has no need to make any pretension; her standing 
 (18)
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 19 
 
 and her title to it are too well known. Moreover, 
 there are certain quaint witnesses to it all over, 
 wherever you look. None but one of such secured 
 position would have such an old carpet on her floor; 
 and few but those of like antecedents could shew 
 such rare old silver on the board. The shawl that 
 wraps the lady is India, and not worn for show; 
 there are portraits on the walls that go back to a re- 
 spectable English ancestry; there is precious old 
 furniture about, that money could not buy; old and 
 quaint and rich, and yet not striking the eye; and 
 the lady is served in the most observant style by one 
 of those ancient house servants whose dignity is in- 
 separably connected with the dignity of the house 
 and springs from it. No new comer to wealth and 
 place can be served so. The whole air of every- 
 thing in the room is easy, refined, leisurely as- 
 sured, and comfortable. The coffee is capital ; and 
 the meal, simple enough, is very delicate in its 
 arrangement. 
 
 Only the two ladies are at the table ; one behind 
 the coffee urn, and the other near her. The mis- 
 tress of the house has a sensible, agreeable face and 
 well bred manner; the other lady is the one who 
 has been so jealously discussed and described in 
 another family. As Miss Julia described her, there 
 she sits, in a morning dress which lends her figure 
 no attraction whatever. And her figure can do 
 without it. As the question is asked her about 
 New York, her eye goes over to the glittering 
 western shore.
 
 20 NOBODY. 
 
 " I like this a great deal better than the city/' 
 she added to her former words. 
 
 " of course, the brick and stone ! " answered 
 her hostess. " I did not mean that I mean, how 
 do you like us ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart, I like you very much," said the 
 girl with a certain sweet spirit. 
 
 "Thank you! but I did not mean that either 
 Do you like no one but me ? " 
 
 " I do not know anybody else." 
 
 " You have seen plenty of people." 
 
 " I do not know them, though. Not a bit. One 
 thing I do not like. People talk so on the surface 
 of things." 
 
 " Do you want them ,to go deep ? in an evening 
 party?" 
 
 " It is not only in evening parties. If you want 
 me to say what I think, Mrs. Wishart. It is the 
 same always, if people come for morning calls, or if 
 we go to them, or if we see them in the evening; 
 people talk about nothing; nothing they care about." 
 
 " Nothing you care about." 
 
 "They do not seem to care about it either." 
 
 " Why do you suppose they talk it then ? " Mrs. 
 Wishart asked, amused. 
 
 " It seems to be a form they must go through," 
 Lois said, laughing a little. " Perhaps they enjoy 
 it, but they do not seem as if they did. And they 
 laugh so incessantly, some of them, at what has 
 no fun in it That seems to be a form too; but 
 laughing for form's sake seems to me hard work."
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 21 
 
 " My dear, do* you want people to be always 
 serious ? " 
 
 " How do you mean, ' serious ' ? " 
 
 " Do you want them to be always going ' deep 
 into things ? " 
 
 "N-o, perhaps not; but I would like them to be 
 always in earnest." 
 
 " My dear ! What a fearful state of society you 
 would bring about ! Imagine once that everybody 
 was always in earnest ! " 
 
 " Why not ? I mean, not always sober; did you 
 think I meant that? I mean, whether they laugh 
 or talk, doing it heartily, and feeling and thinking 
 as they speak. Or rather, speaking and laughing 
 only as they feel." 
 
 " My dear, do you know what would become of 
 society ? " 
 
 "No. What?" 
 
 "I go to see Mrs. Brinkerhoff, for instance. I 
 have something on my mind, and I do not feel 
 like discussing any light matter, so I sit silent. 
 Mrs. Brinkerhoff has a fearfully hard piece of work 
 to keep the conversation going; and when I have 
 departed she votes me a great bore and hopes I 
 will never come again. When she returns my 
 visit, the conditions are reversed; I vote her a bore; 
 and we conclude it is easier to do without each 
 other's company." 
 
 " But do you never find people a bore as it 
 is?" 
 
 Mrs. Wishart laughed. " Do you ? "
 
 22 NOBODY. 
 
 " Sometimes. At least I should if I lived among 
 them. Now, all is new, and I am curious." 
 
 "I can tell you one thing, Lois; nobody votes 
 you a bore." 
 
 " But I never talk as they do." 
 
 " Never mind. There are exceptions to all rules. 
 But my dear, even you must not be always so 
 desperately in earnest. By the way ! That hand- 
 some young Mr. Caruthers does he make himself 
 a bore too? You have seen a good deal of him." 
 
 "No," said Lois with some deliberation. "He 
 is pleasant, what I have seen of him." 
 
 "And as I remarked, that is a good deal. Isn't 
 he a handsome fellow? I think Tom Caruthers 
 is a good fellow, too. And he is likely to be a 
 successful fellow. He is starting well in life, and 
 he has connections that will help him on. It is a 
 good family ; and they have money enough." 
 
 " How do you mean, ' a good family ' ? " 
 
 " Why you know what that phrase expresses, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that I do, in your sense. You 
 do not mean religious ? " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Wishart smiling; "not neces- 
 sarily. Religion has nothing to do with it. I 
 mean we mean It is astonishing how hard it is 
 to put some things ! I mean, a family that has 
 had a good social standing for generations. Of 
 course such a family is connected with other good 
 families, and it is consequently strong, and has 
 advantages for all belonging to it."
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 23 
 
 " I mean," said Lois slowly, "a family that has 
 served God for generations. Such a family has 
 connections too, and advantages." 
 
 " Why my dear," said Mrs. Wishart, opening her 
 eyes a little at the girl, "the two things are not 
 inconsistent, I hope." 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Wealth and position are good things at any 
 rate, are they not ? " 
 
 " So far as they go, I suppose so," said Lois. 
 "0 yes, they are pleasant things; and good things, 
 if they are used right." 
 
 "They are whether or no. Come! I can't have 
 you holding any extravagant ideas, Lois. They 
 don't do in the world. They make one peculiar, 
 and it is not good taste to be peculiar." 
 
 '' You know, I am not in the world," Lois an- 
 swered quietly. 
 
 "Not when you are at home, I grant you; but 
 here, in rny house, you are; and when you have a 
 house of your own, it is. likely you will be. No 
 more coffee, my dear ? Then let us go to the order 
 of the day. What is this, Williams ? " 
 
 " For Miss Lot'rop " the obsequious servant re- 
 plied with a bow, "de bo-quet." But he presented 
 to his mistress a little note on his salver, and then 
 handed to Lois a magnificent bunch of hothouse 
 flowers. Mrs. Wishart's eyes followed the bouquet, 
 and she even rose up to examine it. 
 
 "That is beautiful, my dear. What camellias! 
 And what geraniums ! That is the Black Prince,
 
 24 NOBODY. 
 
 one of those, I am certain; yes, I am sure it is; and 
 that is one of the new rare varieties. That has 
 not come from any florist's greenhouse. IS ever. 
 And that rose-coloured geranium is Lady Suther- 
 land. Who sent the flowers, Williams ? " 
 
 " Here is his card, Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. 
 " Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 "Tom Caruthers!" echoed Mrs. Wishart. "Re 
 has cut them in his mother's greenhouse, the 
 sinner ! " 
 
 " Why ? " said Lois. " Would that be not right? " 
 
 " It would be right, if . Here's a note from 
 Tom's mother, Lois but not about the flowers. It 
 is to ask us to a luncheon party. Shall we go ? " 
 
 " You know, dear Mrs. Wishart, I go just where 
 you choose to take me," said the girl, on whose 
 cheeks an exquisite rose tint rivalled the Lady 
 Sutherland geranium blossoms. Mrs. Wishart no- 
 ticed it, and eyed the girl as she was engrossed 
 with her flowers, examining, smelling, and smiling 
 at them. It was pleasure that raised that delicious 
 bloom in her cheeks, she decided; was it anything 
 more than pleasure ? What a fair creature ! thought 
 her hostess; and yet, fair as she is, what possible 
 chance for her in a good family. A young man 
 may be taken with beauty, but not his relations; 
 and they would object to a girl who is nobody and 
 has nothing. Well, there is a chance for her, and 
 she shall have the chance. 
 
 "Lois, what will you wear to this luncheon 
 party?"
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 25 
 
 
 
 "You know all my dresses, Mrs. Wishart. 1 
 suppose my black silk would be right." 
 
 " No, it would not be right at all. You are too 
 young to wear black silk to a luncheon party. 
 And your white dress is not the thing either." 
 
 " I have nothing else that would do. You must 
 .et me be old, in a black silk." 
 
 " I will not let you be anything of the kind. I 
 will get you a dress." 
 
 "No, Mrs. Wishart; I cannot pay for it." 
 
 " I will pay for it." 
 
 "I cannot let you do that. You have done 
 enough for me already. Mrs. Wishart, it is no 
 matter. People will just think I cannot afford 
 anything better, and that is the very truth." 
 
 "No, Lois; they will think you do not know any 
 better." 
 
 " That is the truth too," said Lois laughing. 
 
 "No it isn't; and if it is, I do not choose they 
 should think so. I shall dress you for this once, 
 my dear; and I shall not ruin myself either." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart had her way; and so it came to pass 
 that Lois went to the luncheon party in a dress of 
 bright green silk; and how lovely she looked in it 
 is impossible to describe. The colour, which would 
 have been ruinous to another person, simply set off 
 her delicate complexion and bright brown hair in 
 the most charming manner; while at the same time 
 the green was not so brilliant as to make an obvious 
 patch of colour wherever its wearer might be. Mrs. 
 Wishart was a great enemy of startling effects,
 
 26 NOBODY. 
 
 
 
 in any kind; and the hue was deep and rich and 
 decided, without being flashy. 
 
 "You never looked so well in anything," was 
 Mrs. Wishart's comment. "I have hit just the 
 right thing. My dear, I would put oi.e of those 
 white camellias in your hair that will relieve the 
 eye." 
 
 " From what ? " Lois asked laughing. 
 
 " Never mind ; you do as I tell you."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 
 
 I" UNCHEON parties were not then precisely what 
 -L/ they are now; nevertheless the entertainment 
 was extremely handsome. Lois and her friend had 
 first a long drive from their Home in the country to 
 a house in one of the older pm'ts of the city. Old 
 the house also was; but it was after a roomy and 
 luxurious fashion, if somewhat antiquated ; and the 
 air of ancient respectability, even of ancient dis- 
 tinction, was stamped upon it, as upon the family 
 that inhabited it. Mrs. Wishart and Lois were 
 received with warm cordiality by Miss Caruthers; 
 but the former did not fail to observe a shadow tha* 
 crossed Mrs. Caruthers' face when Lois was pre- 
 sented to her. Lois did not see it, and would not 
 have known how to interpret it if she had seen it. 
 She is safe, thought Mrs. Wishart, as she noticed 
 the calm unembarrassed air with which Lois sat 
 down to talk with the younger of her hostesses. 
 
 "You are making a long stay with Mrs. Wishart," 
 was the unpromising opening remark. 
 
 (27)
 
 28 NOBODY. 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart keeps me." 
 
 " Do you often come to visit her ? " 
 
 " I was never here before." 
 
 " Then this is your first acquaintance with New 
 York?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How does it strike you ? One loves to get at 
 new impressions of what one has known all one's 
 life. Nothing strikes us here, I suppose. Do tell 
 me what strikes you." 
 
 " I might say, everything." 
 
 " How delightful ! Nothing strikes me. I have 
 seen it all five hundred times. Nothing is new." 
 
 " But people are new," said Lois. " I mean they 
 are different from one another. There is continual 
 variety there." 
 
 "Tome there seems continual sameness!" said 
 the other, with a half shutting up of her eyes, 
 as of one dazed with monotony. "They are 
 all alike. I know beforehand exactly what every 
 one will say to me, and how every one will be- 
 have." 
 
 " That is not how it is at home," returned Lois. 
 w It is different there." 
 
 " People are not all alike ? " 
 
 "No indeed. Perfectly unlike, and individual." 
 
 "How agreeable! So that is one of the things 
 that strike you here? the contrast?" 
 
 "No," said Lois, laughing; " /find here the same 
 variety that I find at home. People are not alike 
 to me."
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 29 
 
 " But different, I suppose, from the varieties you 
 are accustomed to at home ? " 
 
 Lois admitted that. 
 
 " Well now tell me how. I have never travelled 
 in New England; I have travelled everywhere else. 
 Tell me, won't you, how those whom you see here 
 differ from the people you see at home." 
 
 " In the same sort of way that a sea-gull differ 
 from a land sparrow," Lois answered demurely. 
 
 " I don't understand. Are we like the sparrows, 
 or like the gulls ? " 
 
 " I do not know that. I mean merely that the 
 different sorts are fitted to different spheres and 
 ways of life." 
 
 Miss Caruthers looked a little curiously at the 
 girl. " I know this sphere," she said. " I want you 
 to tell me yours." 
 
 " It is free space, instead of narrow streets, and 
 clear air, instead of smoke. And the people all 
 have something to do, and are doing it." 
 
 " And you think we are doing nothing ? " asked 
 Miss Caruthers laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps I am mistaken. It seems to me so." 
 
 " you are mistaken. We work hard. And 
 yet, since I went to school, I never had anything 
 that I must do, in my life." 
 
 "That can be only because you did not know 
 what it was." 
 
 " I had nothing that I must do." 
 
 "But nobody is put in this world without some- 
 thing to do," said Lois. " Do you think a good
 
 30 NOBODY. 
 
 watchmaker would carefully make and finish a very 
 costly pin or wheel, and put it in the works of his 
 watch to do nothing ? " 
 
 Miss Caruthers stared now at the girl. Had thia 
 soft, innocent looking maiden absolutely dared to 
 
 id a lesson to her? "You are religious!" she re- 
 
 arked drily. 
 
 Lois neither affirmed nor denied it. Her eye 
 oved over the gathering throng; the rustle of silks, 
 the shimmer of lustrous satin, the falls of lace, the 
 drapery of one or two magnificent camels' hair 
 shawls, the carefully dressed heads, the carefully 
 gloved hands; for the ladies did not keep on their 
 bonnets then; and the soft murmur of voices, which 
 however did not remain soft. It waxed and grew, 
 rising and falling, until the room was filled with a 
 breaking sea of sound. Miss Caruthers had been 
 called off to attend to other guests, and then came 
 to conduct Lois herself to the dining room. 
 
 The party was large, the table was long; and it 
 was a mass of glitter and glisten with plate and 
 glass. A superb old fashioned epergne in the 
 middle, great dishes of flowers sending their per- 
 fumed breath through the room, and bearing their 
 delicate exotic witness to the luxury that reigned 
 in the house. And not they alone. Before each 
 guest's plate a semicircular wreath of flowers stood, 
 seemingly upon the tablecloth; but Lois made the 
 discovery that the stems were safe in water in 
 crescent shaped glass dishes, like little troughs, 
 which the flowers completely covered up and hid
 
 A LUNCHCON PAKTY. 31 
 
 Her own special wreath was of heliotropes. Miss 
 Caruthers had placed her next herself. 
 
 There were no gentlemen present, nor expected, 
 Lois observe' If was simply a company of ladies, 
 met apparently for the purpose of eating; for that 
 business went on for some ume, with a degree of 
 satisfaction and a supply of means to afford satis- 
 faction, which Lois had never seen equalise 1 From 
 one delicate and delicious thing to another she tva* 
 required to go, until she came to a stop; but that 
 was .'-he case, she observed, with no one else of the 
 part.y. 
 
 ' You do not drink wine ? " asked Miss Caruthers 
 civilly. 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " Have you scruples ? " said the young lady with 
 a oa?: smile. 
 
 Loie assented. 
 
 " Why ? what's the harm ? " 
 
 " We all have scruples at Shampuashuh." 
 
 44 About drinking wine ? " 
 
 44 Or cider, or beer, or anything of the sort." 
 
 " Do tell me why." 
 
 44 It does so much mischief." 
 
 "Among low people," said Miss Caruth;-rs open- 
 ing her eyes; "but not among respectable people" 
 
 " We are willing to hinder mischief anywhere," 
 said Lois with a smile of some fun. 
 
 "But what good does your not drinking it do? 
 That will not hinder them." 
 
 44 It does hinder them, though," said Lois; "for
 
 32 NOBODY. 
 
 we will uot have liquor shops. And so, we have 
 no crime in the town. We could leave our doors 
 unlocked, with perfect safety, if it were not for tk 
 people that come wandering through from the next 
 towns, where liquor is sold. We have no crime, 
 and no poverty; or next to none." 
 
 " Bless me ! what an agreeable state of things. 
 But that need not hinder your taking a glass of 
 champagne here ? Everybody here has no scruple, 
 and there are liquor shops at every corner; there 
 is no use in setting an example. 
 
 But Lois declined the wine. 
 
 " A cup of coffee then ? " 
 
 Lois accepted the coffee. 
 
 "I think you know my brother?" observed Miss 
 Caruthers then, making her observations as she 
 spoke. 
 
 '"Mr. Caruthers? yes; I believe he is your brother." 
 
 "I have heard him speak of you. He has seen 
 you at Mrs. Wishart's, I think." 
 
 " At Mrs. Wishart's yes." 
 
 Lois spoke naturally, yet Miss Caruthers fancied 
 she could discern a certain check to the flow of her 
 words. 
 
 " You could not be in a better place for seeing 
 what New York is like, for everybody goes to Mrs. 
 Wishart's; that is, everybody who is anybody." 
 
 This did not seem to Lois to require any answer. 
 Her eye went over the long tableful; went from 
 face to face. Everybody was talking, nearly every- 
 body was smiling. Why not? If enjoyment would
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 33 
 
 make them smile, where could more means of en- 
 joyment be heaped up, than at this feast? Yet, 
 Lois could not help thinking that the tokens of real 
 pleasure-taking were not unequivocal. She was 
 having a very good time; full of amusement; to 
 the others it was an old story. Of what use, then ? 
 
 Miss Caruthers had been engaged in a liveh 
 battle of words with some of her young compan 
 ions; and now her attention came back to Lois, 
 whose meditative, amused expression struck her. 
 
 "I am sure," she said, "you are philosophizing! 
 Let me have the results of your observations, do ! 
 What do your eyes see, that mine perhaps do 
 not?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," said Lois. "Yours ought to know 
 it all." 
 
 ' But you know, we do not see what we have 
 always seen." 
 
 "Then I have an advantage," said Lois pleas- 
 antly. "My eyes see something very pretty." 
 
 "But you were criticizing something. you 
 unlucky boy!" 
 
 This exclamation and the change of tone with it, 
 seemed to be called forth by the entrance of a new 
 comer, even Tom Caruthers himself. Tom was not 
 in company trim exactly, but with his gloves rn 
 his hand and his overcoat evidently just pulled off. 
 Tie was surveying the company with a contented 
 expression ; then came forward and began a series 
 of greetings round the table; not hurrying them, 
 Vmt prmsirio' VIPTP arid thpr^ for litHp tnllc.
 
 34 NOBODY.^ 
 
 " Tom ! " cried his mother, " is that you ? " 
 
 "To command. Yes, Mrs. Badger, I am just off 
 the cars. I did not know what I should find here." 
 
 " How did you get back so soon, Tom ? " 
 
 "Had nothing to keep me longer, ma'am. Miss 
 Parrel, 1 have the honour to remind you of a phitti- 
 pcena" 
 
 There was a shout of laughter. It bewildered Lois, 
 who could not understand what they were laughing 
 about, and could as little keep her attention from 
 following Tom's progress round the table. Miss 
 Caruthers observed this, and was annoyed. 
 
 " Careless boy ! " she said. " I don't believe he 
 has done the half of what he had to do. Tom, 
 what brought you home? " 
 
 Tom was by this time approaching them. 
 
 " Is the question to be understood in a physical 
 or moral sense ? " said he. 
 
 " As you understand it ! " said his sister. 
 
 Tom disregarded the question, and paid his re- 
 spects to Miss Lothrop. Julia's jealous eyes saw 
 more than the ordinary gay civility in his face and 
 manner. 
 
 " Tom," she cried, " have you done everything ? 
 I don't believe you have." 
 
 " Have, though," said Tom. And he offered to 
 Lois a basket of bon-bons. 
 
 " Did you see the carpenter ? " 
 
 "Saw him and gave him his orders." 
 
 " Were the dogs well ? " 
 
 U I wish you had seen them bid me good morning! "
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 85 
 
 " Did you look at the mare's foot ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What is the matter with it ? " 
 
 "Nothing a nail Miss Lothrop, you have no 
 wine." 
 
 " Nothing ! and a nail ! " cried Miss Julia as Loi- 
 sovered her glass with her hand and forbade the 
 wine. " As if a nail were not enough to ruin a 
 horse ! you careless boy! Miss Lothrop is more 
 of a philosopher than you are. She drinks no 
 wine." 
 
 Tom passed on, speaking to other ladies. Lois 
 had scarcely spoken at all; but Miss Caruthers 
 thought she could discern a little stir in the soft 
 colour of the cheeks and a little additional life in the 
 grave soft eyes; and she wished Torn heartily at a 
 distance. 
 
 At a distance however he was no more that day. 
 He made himself gracefully busy indeed with the 
 rest of his mother's guests; but after they quitted 
 the table he contrived to be at Lois's side, and asked 
 if she would not like to see the greenhouse? It 
 was a welcome proposition, and while nobody at 
 the moment paid any attention to the two young 
 people, they passed out by a glass door at the other 
 end of the dining room into the conservatory, while 
 the stream of guests went the other way. Then 
 Lois was plunged in a wilderness of green leafage 
 and brilliant bloom, warm atmosphere and mixed 
 perfume; her first breath was an involuntary ex- 
 clamation of delight and relief.
 
 36 NOBODY. 
 
 "Ah! you like this better than the other room, 
 don't you ? " said Tom. 
 
 Lois did not answer; however, she went with 
 such an absorbed expression from one plant to 
 another, that Tom must needs conclude she liked 
 this better than the other company too. 
 
 " I never saw such a beautiful greenhouse," she 
 said at last, " nor so large a one." 
 
 " This is not much," replied Tom. " Most of our 
 plants are in the country where I have come from 
 to-day; this is just a city affair. Shampuashuh 
 don't cultivate exotics, then?" 
 
 " no ! Nor anything much, except the needful." 
 
 " That sounds rather tiresome," said Tom. 
 
 " it is not tiresome. One does not get tired of 
 the needful, you know." 
 
 "Don't you? I do," said Tom. "Awfully. But 
 what do you do for pleasure then, up there in 
 Shampuashuh ? " 
 
 " Pleasure ? we have it I have it But we do 
 not spend much time in the search of it. how 
 beautiful ! what is that ? " 
 
 " It's got some long name Metrosideros, I believe. 
 What do you do for pleasure up there then, Miss 
 Lothrop?" 
 
 "Dig clams." 
 
 " Clams ! " cried Tom. 
 
 " Yes. Long clams. It's great fun. But 1 find 
 pleasure all over." 
 
 "How come you to be such a philosopher?" 
 
 'That is not philosophy."
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 37 
 
 " What is it ? I can tell you, there isn't a girl in 
 New York that would say what you have just 
 said." 
 
 Lois thought the faces around the lunch table 
 had quite harmonized with this statement. She 
 forgot them again in a most luxuriant trailing 
 Pelargonium covered with large white blossoms of 
 great elegance. 
 
 " But it is philosophy that makes you not drink 
 wine ? Or don't you like it ? " 
 
 "0 no," said Lois, "it is not philosophy; it is 
 humanity." 
 
 " How ? I think it is humanity to share in 
 people's social pleasures." 
 
 " If they were harmless." 
 
 " This is harmless ! " 
 
 Lois shook her head. " To you, maybe." 
 
 " And to you. Then why shouldn't we take it ? " 
 
 "For the sake of others, to whom it is not 
 harmless." 
 
 "They must look out for themselves." 
 
 "Yes, and we must help them." 
 
 " We cant help them. If a man hasn't strength 
 enough to stand, you cannot hold him up." 
 
 " yes," said Lois gently, "you can and you must. 
 That is not much to do ! When on one side it is 
 life, and on the other side it is only a minute's taste 
 of something sweet, it is very little, I think, to give 
 up one for the other." 
 
 "That is because you are so good," said Tool 
 " I am not so good."
 
 38 NOBODY. 
 
 At this instant a voice was heard within, and 
 sounds of the servants removing the lunch dishes. 
 
 " I never heard anybody in my life talk as you 
 do," Tom went on. 
 
 Lois thought she had talked enough, and would 
 say no more. Tom saw she would not, and gave 
 her glance after glance of admiration, which began 
 to grow into veneration. What a pure creature 
 was this ! what a gentle simplicity, and yet what a 
 quiet dignity ! what absolutely natural sweetness, 
 with no airs whatever ! and what a fresh beauty. 
 
 " I think it must be easier to be good where you 
 live," Tom added presently, and sincerely. 
 
 "Why? "said Lois. 
 
 " I assure you it aint easy for a fellow here." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' good,' Mr. Caruthers ? 
 not drinking wine ? " said Lois somewhat amused. 
 
 " I mean, to be like you/' said he softly. " You 
 are better than all the rest of us here." 
 
 " I hope not. Mr. Caruthers, we must go back 
 to Mrs. Wishart, or certainly she will not think mo 
 good." 
 
 So they went back, through the empty lunch 
 room. 
 
 "I thought you would be here to-day," said Tom. 
 "I was not going to miss the pleasure; so I took a 
 frightfully early train, and despatched business 
 faster than it had ever been despatched before, at 
 our house. I surprised the people, almost as much 
 as I surprised my mother and Julia. You ought 
 always to wear a white camellia in your hair ! "
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. Sl> 
 
 Lois smiled to herself. If he knew, what things 
 she had to do at her own home, and how such an 
 adornment would be in place ! Was it easier to 
 be good there? she queried. It was easier to be 
 pleased here. The guests were mostly gone. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wisha.** on the drive 
 home, " how have you enjoyed yourself" 
 
 Lois looked grave. " I am afraid it turns m) 
 head," she answered. 
 
 " That shews your head is not turned. It urust 
 carry a good deal of ballast too, somewhere." 
 
 "It does," said Lois. "And I don't like to have 
 my head turned." 
 
 "Tom," said Miss Julia, as Mrs. Wishart's car- 
 riage drove off and Tom came back to the drawing 
 room, "you mustn't turn that little girl's head." 
 
 " I can't," said Tom. 
 
 " You are trying." 
 
 " I am doing nothing of the sort ! " 
 
 " Then what are you doing ? You are paying hei 
 a great deal of attention. She is not accustomed to 
 our ways; she will not understand it. I do not 
 think it is fair to her." 
 
 " I don't mean anything that is not fair to her. 
 She is worth attention ten times as much as all the 
 rest of the girls that were here to-day." 
 
 " But Tom, she would not take it as coolly. She 
 knows only country ways. She might think 'at- 
 tentions mean more than they do." 
 
 "I don't care," said Tom. 
 
 "My dear boy," said his mother now, "it will
 
 40 NOBODY. 
 
 not do, not to care. It would not be honourable 
 to raise hopes you do not mean to fulfil; and to 
 take such a girl for your wife, would be simply 
 ruinous." 
 
 " Where will you find such another girl ? " cried 
 Tom, flaring up. 
 
 " But she has nothing, and she is nobody." 
 
 " She is her own sweet self," said Tom. 
 
 " But not an advantageous wife for you, my dear. 
 Society does not know her, and she does not know 
 society. Your career would be a much more hum- 
 ble one with her by your side. And money you 
 want, too. You need it, to get on properly; as I 
 wish to see you get on, and as you wish it your- 
 self. My dear boy, do not throw your chances 
 away ! " 
 
 " It's my belief, that is just what you are trying 
 to make me do ! " said the young man; and he went 
 off in something of a huff. 
 
 "Mamma, we must do something. And soon," 
 remarked Miss Julia. " Men are such fools ! He 
 rushed through with everything and came home 
 to-day just to see that girl. A pretty face abso- 
 lutely bewitches. them." N. B. Miss Ji; ia herself 
 did not possess that bewitching powe; 
 
 " I will go to Florida," said Mrs Caruthere 
 sighing.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 
 
 A JOURNEY can be decided upon in a minute, 
 but not so soon entered upon. Mrs. Caruthers 
 needed a week to make ready; and during that 
 week her son and heir found opportunity to make 
 several visits at Mrs. Wishart's. A certain marriage 
 connection between the families gave him somewhat 
 the familiar right of a cousin ; he could go when 
 he pleased; and Mrs. Wishart liked him, and used 
 no means to keep him away. Tom Caruthers was 
 a model of manly beauty; gentle and agreeable in 
 his manners; and of an evidently affectionate and 
 kindly disposition. Why should not the young 
 people like each other? she thought; and things 
 were in fair train. Upon this came the departure 
 for Florida. Tom spoke his regrets unreservedly 
 out; he could not help himself, his mother's health 
 required her to go to the South for the month ot 
 March, and she must necessarily have his escort. 
 Lois said little. Mrs. Wishart feared, or hoped, she 
 felt the more. A little absence is no harm, the 
 lady thought; may be no harm. But now Lois
 
 42 NOBODY. 
 
 began to speak of returning to Shampuashuh; and 
 that indeed might make the separation too long 
 for profit. She thought too that Lois was a little 
 more thoughtful and a trifle more quiet than she 
 had been before this journey was talked of. 
 
 One day, it was a cold, blustering day in March, 
 Mrs. Wishart and her guest had gone down into 
 *ne lower part of the city to do some particular 
 shopping; Mrs. Wishart having promised Lois that 
 tiey would take lunch and rest at a particular 
 r-ashionable restaurant. Such an expedition had a 
 ^reat charm for the little country girl, to whom 
 verything was new, and to whose healthy mental 
 senses the ways and manners of the business world, 
 with all the accessories thereof, were as interesting 
 HS the gayer regions and the lighter life of fashion. 
 Mrs. Wishart had occasion to go to a banker's ir. 
 Wall Street; she had business at the Post Office; 
 she had something to do which took her to severa'. 
 furrier's shops; she visited a particular magazine or' 
 varieties in Maiden Lane, where things, she told 
 Lois, were about half the price they bore up town. 
 She spent near an hour at the Tract House in Nassau 
 Street. There was no question of taking t3ie car- 
 riage into these regions; an omnibus had brought 
 them to Wall Street, and from there they went 
 about on their own feet, walking and standing 
 alternately, till both ladies were well tired. Mrs. 
 Wishart breathed out a sigh of relief as she took 
 her seat in the omnibus which was to carry them 
 up town again.
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 43 
 
 " Tired out, Lois, are you ? I am." 
 
 " I am not. I have been too much amused." 
 
 " It's delightful to take you anywhere ! You 
 reverse the old fairytale catastrophe, and a little 
 handful of ashes turns to fruit for you, or to gold. 
 \Vell, I will make some silver turn to fruit presently. 
 I want my lunch, and I know you do. I should 
 like to have you with me always, Lois. I get some 
 of the good of your fairy fruit and gold when you 
 are along with me. Tell me, child; do you do that 
 sort of thing at home ? " 
 
 " What sort ? -" said Lois laughing. 
 
 "Turning nothings into gold?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Lois. " I believe 1 do pick 
 up a good deal of that sort of gold as I go along. 
 But at home our life has a great deal of sameness 
 about it, you know. Here everything is wonderful." 
 
 " Wonderful ! " repeated Mrs. Wishart. " To you 
 it is wonderful. And to me it is the dullest old 
 story, the whole of it. I feel as dusty now, men- 
 tally, as I am outwardly. But we'll have some 
 luncheon, Lois, and that will be refreshing, I hope. 
 
 Hopes were to be much disappointed. Getting 
 out of the omnibus near the locality of the desirec. 
 restaurant, the whole street was found in confusion. 
 There had been a fire, it seemed, that morning, in 
 a house adjoining or very near, and loungers and 
 firemen and an engine and hose took up all the 
 way. No restaurant to be reached there that morn- 
 ing. Greatly dismayed, Mrs. Wishart put herself 
 and Lois in one of the street cars to go on up town
 
 44 NOBODY. 
 
 "lam famishing !" she declared. "And now 1 
 do not know where to go. Everybody has had 
 lunch at home by this time, or there are half a 
 dozen houses I could go to." 
 
 " Are there no other restaurants but that 
 one?" 
 
 "Plenty; but I could not eat in comfort unless 
 I know things are clean. I know that place, and 
 the others I don't know. Ha, Mr. Diilwyn ! " 
 
 This exclamation was called forth by the sight 
 of a gentleman who just at tLdt^moment was en- 
 tering the car. Apparently he was an old acquaint- 
 ance, for the recognition was eager on both sides 
 The new comer took a seat on the other side of 
 Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 " Where do you come from," said he, " that I 
 find you here ? " 
 
 " From the depths of business Wall Street 
 and all over; and now the depths of despair, 
 that we cannot get lunch. I am going home 
 starving." 
 
 " What does that mean ? " 
 
 "Just a contre-temps. I promised my young 
 friend here I would give her a good lunch at the 
 best restaurant I knew; and to-day of all days, and 
 just as we come tired out to get some refreshment, 
 there's a fire and firemen and all the slreet in a 
 hubbub. Nothing for it but to go home fast- 
 ing." 
 
 "No." said he, "there is a better thing. You 
 will do me the honour and give me the pleasure of
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 45 
 
 lunching with me. I am living at the ' Imperial, 
 and here we are ! " 
 
 He signalled the car to stop, even as he spoke, 
 and rose to help the ladies out. Mrs. Wishart had 
 no time to think about it, and on the sudden im- 
 pulse yielded. They left the car, and a few steps 
 brought them to the immense beautiful building 
 called the Imperial Hotel. Mr. Dillwyn took them 
 in as one at home, conducted them to the great 
 dining room; proposed to them to go first to a 
 dressing room, but this Mrs. Wishart declined. So 
 they took places at a small table, near enough to 
 one of the great clear windows for Lois to look 
 down into the Avenue and see all that was going 
 on there. But first the place where she was oc- 
 cupied her. With a kind of wondering delight her 
 eye went down the lines of the immense room, 
 reviewed its loftiness, its adornments, its light and 
 airiness and beauty ; its perfection of luxurious fur- 
 nishing and outfitting. Few people were in it just 
 at this hour, and the few were too far off to trouble 
 at all the sense of privacy. Lois was tired, she was 
 hungry; this sudden escape from din and motion 
 and dust, to refreshment and stillness and a soft 
 atmosphere, was like the changes in an Ara- 
 bian Nights enchantment. And the place was 
 splendid enough and dainty enough to fit into 
 one of those stories too. Lois sat back in he^ 
 chair, quietly but intensely enjoying. It never 
 occurred to her that she herself might be a worthy 
 object of contemplation.
 
 46 NOBODY. 
 
 Yet a fairer might have been sought for, all New 
 York through. She was not vulgarly gazing; she 
 had not the aspect of one strange to the place; 
 quiet, grave, withdrawn into herself, she wore an 
 air of most sweet reserve and unconscious dignity. 
 Features more beautiful might be found no doubt, 
 and in numbers; it was not the mere lines, nor the 
 mere colours of her face, which made it so remark- 
 able, but rather the mental character. The beau- 
 tiful poise of a spirit at rest within itself; thf> 
 simplicity of unconsciousness; the freshness of a 
 mind to which nothing has grown stale or old, and 
 which sees nothing in its conventional shell; along 
 with the sweetness that comes of habitual dwelling 
 in sweetness. Both her companions occasionally 
 looked at her; Lois did not know it; she did not 
 think herself of sufficient importance to be looked at. 
 
 And then came the luncheon. Such a luncheon ! 
 and served with a delicacy which became it. Choc- 
 olate which was a rich froth ; rolls which were puff 
 balls of perfection ; salad, and fruit. Anything yet 
 more substantial Mrs. Wishart declined. Also she 
 declined wine. 
 
 " I should not dare, before Lois," she said. 
 
 Therewith came their entertainer's eyes round to 
 Lois again. 
 
 " Is she allowed to keep your conscience, Mrs. 
 Wishart?" 
 
 " Poor child ! I don't charge her with that. 
 But you know, Mr. Dillwyn, in presence of angels 
 one would walk a little carefully ! "
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 47 
 
 " That almost sounds as if the angels would be 
 Uncomfortable companions," said Lois. 
 
 "Not quite sans gene" the gentleman added. 
 Then Lois's eyes met his full. 
 
 " I do not know what that is," she said. 
 
 " Only a couple of French words." 
 
 "I do not know French," said Lois simply. 
 
 He had not seen before what beautiful eyes they 
 were; soft and grave, and true with the clearness 
 of the blue ether. He thought he would like 
 another such look into their transparent depths. 
 So he asked, 
 
 " But what is it about the wine? " 
 
 " O we are water-drinkers up about my home," 
 Lois answered, looking however at her chocolate 
 cup from which she was refreshing herself. 
 
 " That is what the English call us as a nation, I 
 am sure most inappropriately. Some of us know 
 good wine when we see it; and most of the rest 
 have an intimate acquaintance with wine or some- 
 thing else that is not good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop 
 has formed her opinion, and practice, upon knowl- 
 edge of this latter kind ? " 
 
 Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or 
 practice, could have very little interest for this fine 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own 
 opinions," Mrs. Wishart remarked. 
 
 " But not inconsistent enough to build them on 
 nothing, T hope ? '* 
 
 " I could tell you what they are built on," said
 
 48 NOBODY. 
 
 Lois, brought out by this challenge ; " but I do not 
 know that you would see from that how well founded 
 they are." 
 
 " I should be very grateful for such an in- 
 dulgence." 
 
 " In this particular case we are speaking of, they 
 are built on two foundation stones both out of the 
 same quarry," said Lois, her colour rising a little, 
 while she smiled too. " One is this ' Whatsoever 
 ye would that men should do to you, do ye even 
 so to them.' And the other ' I will neither 
 eat meat, nor drink wine, nor anything, by which 
 my brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made 
 weak.' " 
 
 Lois did not look up as she spoke, and Mrs. 
 Wishart smiled with amusement. Their host's 
 face expressed an undoubted astonishment. He 
 regarded the gentle and yet bold speaker with 
 steady attention for a minute or two, noting the 
 modesty, and the gentleness, and the fearlessness 
 with which she spoke. Noting her great beauty 
 too. 
 
 " Precious stones ! " said he lightly when she had 
 done speaking. " I do not know whether they are 
 broad enough for such a superstructure as you 
 would build on them." And then he turned to 
 Mrs. Wishart again, and they left the subject and 
 plunged into a variety of other subjects where Lois 
 scarce could follow them. 
 
 What did they not talk of! Mr. Dillwyn, it 
 appeared, had lately returned from abroad, where
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 49 
 
 Mrs. Wishart had also formerly lived for some time; 
 and now they went over a multitude of things and 
 people familiar to both of them, but of which Lois 
 did not even know the names. She listened how- 
 ever, eagerly; and gleaned, as an eager listener 
 generally may, a good deal. Places, until now 
 unheard-of, took a certain form and aspect in Lois's 
 imagination ; people were discerned, also in imagi- 
 nation, as being of different types and wonderfully 
 different habits and manners of life from any Lois 
 knew at home or had even seen in New York. She 
 heard pictures talked of, and wondered what sort 
 of a world that art world might be, in which Mr. 
 Dillwyn was so much at home. Lois had never 
 seen any pictures in her life which were much 
 to her. And the talk about countries sounded 
 strange. She knew where Germany was on the 
 map, and could give its boundaries no doubt accu- 
 rately; but all this gossip about the Rhineland and 
 its vineyards and the vintages there and in France, 
 sounded fascinatingly novel., And she knew where 
 Italy was on the map; but Italy's skies, and soft air, 
 and mementos of past times of history and art, 
 were unknown; and she listened with ever quick 
 ening attention. The result of the whole at last 
 was a mortifying sense that she knew nothing. 
 These people, her friend and this other, lived in- a 
 world of mental impressions and mentally stored-up 
 knowledge, which seemed to make their life un- 
 endingly broader and richer than her own. Espe- 
 cially the gentlemar Lois observed that it was
 
 50 NOBODY. 
 
 constantly he who had something new to tell Mrs 
 Wishart, and that in all the ground they went over, 
 he was more at home than she. Indeed Lois got 
 the impression that Mr. Dillwyn knew the world 
 and everything in it better than anybody she had 
 ever seen. Mr. Caruthers was extremely au fait in 
 many things; Lois had the thought, uot the word; 
 but Mr. Dillwyn was an older man and had seen 
 much more. He was terrifically wise in it all, she 
 thought; and by degrees she got a kind of awe of 
 him. A little of Mrs. Wishart too. How much her 
 friend knew, how at home she was in this big world ! 
 what a plain little piece of ignorance was she her- 
 self beside her. Well, thought Lois every -one to 
 his place ! My place is Shampuashuh. I suppose 
 I am fitted for that. 
 
 "Miss Lothrop," said their entertainer here, " will 
 you allow me to give you some grapes?" 
 
 " Grapes in March ! " said Lois smiling, as a beau- 
 tiful white bunch was laid before her. " People 
 who live in New York can have everything, it 
 seems, that they want." 
 
 "Provided they can pay for it," Mrs. Wishart 
 put in. 
 
 " How is it in your part of the world ? " said Mr. 
 Dillwyn. " You cannot have what you want ? " 
 
 " Depends upon what order you keep your wishes 
 in," said Lois. "You can have strawberries in 
 June and grapes in September." 
 
 " What order do you keep your wishes in ? " was 
 the next question.
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 51 
 
 " I think it best to have as few as possible." 
 
 " But that would reduce life to a mere framework 
 of life, if one had no wishes ! " 
 
 " One can find something else to fill it up," said 
 Lois. 
 
 " Pray what would you substitute ? For with 
 wishes I connect the accomplishment of wishes." 
 
 "Are they always connected?" 
 
 "Not always; but generally, the one are the 
 means to the other." 
 
 " I believe I do not find it so." 
 
 " Then, pardon me, what would you substitute, 
 Miss Lothrop, to fill up your life, and not have it a 
 bare existence ? " 
 
 " There is always work " said Lois shyly ; " and 
 there are the pleasures that come without being 
 wished for. I mean, without being particularly 
 sought and expected." 
 
 " Does much come that way ? " asked their en- 
 tertainer with an incredulous smile of mockery. 
 
 " a great deal ! " cried Lois ; and then she 
 checked herself. 
 
 "This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. 
 Wishart," said the gentleman. "Do you think I 
 may presume upon Miss Lothrop's good nature, 
 and carry it further? " 
 
 " Miss Lothrop's good nature is a commodity I 
 never knew yet to fail." 
 
 "Then I will go on, for I am curious to know, 
 with an honest desire to enlarge my circle of 
 knowledge. Will you tell me, Miss Lothrop, what
 
 52 NOBODY. 
 
 are the pleasures in your mind when you speak oi 
 their coming unsought ? " 
 
 Lois tried to draw back. 
 
 " I do not believe you would understand them,' 
 she said a little shyly. 
 
 ''I trust you do my understanding less than 
 justice ! " 
 
 " No," said Lois blushing, " for your enjoyments 
 are in another line." 
 
 " Please indulge me, and tell me the line of 
 yours." 
 
 He is laughing at me thought Lois. And her 
 next thought was, What matter ! So after an in- 
 stant's hesitation she answered simply. 
 
 " To anybody who has travelled over the world, 
 Shampuashuh is a small place; and to anybody 
 who knows all you have been talking about, what 
 we know at Shampuashuh would seem very little. 
 But every morning it is a pleasure to me to wake 
 and see the sun rise; and the fields, and the river, 
 and the Sound, are a constant delight to me at all 
 times of day, and in all sorts of weather. A walk 
 or a ride is always a great pleasure, and different 
 every time. Then I take constant pleasure in my 
 work." 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart," said the gentleman, " this is a 
 revelation to me. Would it be indiscreet, if I were 
 to ask Miss Lothrop what she can possibly mean 
 under the use of the term ' work ' ? " 
 
 I think Mrs. Wishart considered that it tvould be 
 rather indiscreet, and wished Lois would be a little
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 53 
 
 reticent about her home affairs. Lois however had 
 no such feeling. 
 
 " I mean work," she said. " I can have no ob- 
 jection that anybody should know what our life is 
 at home. We have a little farm, very small; it 
 just keeps a few cows and sheep. In the house 
 we are three sisters; and we have an old grand- 
 mother to take care of, and to keep the house, 
 and manage the farm." 
 
 44 But surely you cannot do that last ? " said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " We do not manage the cows and sheep," said 
 Lois smiling; 4 ' men's hands do that; but we make 
 the butter, and we spin the wool, and we cultivate 
 our garden. That we do ourselves entirely; and 
 we have a good garden too. And that is one of 
 the things," added Lois smiling, 44 in which I take 
 unending pleasure." 
 
 44 What can you do in a garden ? " 
 
 44 All there is to do, except ploughing. We get 
 a neighbour to do that." 
 
 44 And the digging." 
 
 44 1 can dig," said Lois laughing. 
 
 " But do not ? " 
 
 44 Certainly I do.'' 
 
 44 And sow seeds, and dress beds ? " 
 
 " Certainly. And enjoy every moment of it. 1 
 do it early, before the sun gets hot. And then, 
 there is all the rest; gathering the fruit, and pull- 
 ing the vegetables, and the care of them when we 
 have got them; and I take great pleasure in it
 
 54 NOBODY. 
 
 all. The summer mornings and spring mornings 
 in the garden are delightful, and all the work of a 
 garden is delightful, I think." 
 
 "You will except the digging?" 
 
 "You are laughing at me," said Lois quietly. 
 " No, I do not except the digging. I like it par- 
 ticularly. Hoeing and raking I do not like half so 
 well." ." 
 
 " I am not laughing," said Mr. Dilhvyn, " or 
 certainly not at you. If at anybody, it is myself. 
 I am filled with admiration." 
 
 "There is no room for that either," said Lois. 
 " We just have it to do, and we do it; that is all." 
 
 " Miss Lothrop, I never have had to do anything 
 in my life, since I left college." 
 
 Lois thought privately her own thoughts, but did 
 not give them expression ; she had talked a great 
 deal more than she meant to do. Perhaps Mrs. 
 Wishart too thought there had been enough of it, 
 for she began to make preparations for departure. 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart," said Mr. Dillwyn, "I have to 
 thank you for the greatest pleasure I have enjoyed 
 since I landed." 
 
 " Unsought and unwished-for, too, according to 
 Miss Lothrop's theory. Certainly we have to thank 
 you, Philip, for we were in a distressed condition 
 when you found us. Come and see me. And," 
 she added sotto voce as he was leading her out 
 and Lois had stepped on before them, " I consider 
 that all the information that has been given you 
 is strictly in confidence."
 
 ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. 55 
 
 "Quite delicious confidence!" 
 
 " Yes, but not for all ears," added Mrs. Wishart 
 somewhat anxiously. 
 
 "I am glad 'you think me worthy. I will not 
 abuse the trust." 
 
 " I did not say I thought you worthy," said the 
 lady laughing; " I was not consulted. Young eyes 
 see the world in the fresh colours of morning, and 
 think daisies grow everywhere." 
 
 They had reached the street. Mr. Dillwyn ac- 
 companied the ladies a part of their way and then 
 took leave of them.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN COUNCIL. 
 
 (^AUNTERING back to his hotel, Mr. Dillwyn's 
 O thoughts were a good deal engaged with the 
 impressions of the last hour. It was odd, too; he 
 had seen all varieties and descriptions of feminine 
 fascination, or he thought he had ; some of them 
 in very high places and with all the adventitious 
 charms which wealth and place and breeding can 
 add to those of nature's giving. Yet here was 
 something new. A novelty as fresh as one of the 
 daisies Mrs. Wishart had spoken of. He had seen 
 daisies too before, he thought; and was not particu- 
 larly fond of that style. No ; this was something 
 other than a daisy. 
 
 Sauntering along and not heeding his surround- 
 ings, he was suddenly hailed by a joyful voice, and 
 an arm was thrust within his own. 
 
 " Philip ! where did you come from ? and when 
 did you come ? " 
 
 " Only the other day from Egypt was coming 
 to see you, but have been bothered with Custom- 
 house business. How do you all do, Tom? 
 (56)
 
 IN COUNCIL. 57 
 
 "What are you bringing over? curiosities? or 
 precious things ? " 
 
 " Might be both. How do you do, old boy ? " 
 
 " Very much put out, just at present, by a notion 
 of my mother's, she will go to Florida to escape 
 March winds." 
 
 "Florida! Well, Florida is a good place, when 
 March is stalking abroad like this. What are you 
 put out for? I don't comprehend." 
 
 " Yes, but you see, the mouth will be half over 
 before she gets ready to be off; and what's the use ? 
 April will be here directly; she might just as well 
 wait here for April." 
 
 ' You cannot pick oranges off the trees here in 
 April. You forget that." 
 
 " Don't want to pick 'em anywhere. But come 
 along, and see them at home. They'll be awfully 
 glad to see you." 
 
 It was not far, and talking of nothings the two 
 strolled that way. There was much rejoicing over 
 Philip's return, and much curiosity expressed as to 
 where he had been and what he had been doing for 
 a long time past. Finally Mrs. Caruthers proposed 
 that he should go on to Florida with them. 
 
 "Yes, do!" cried Tom. "You go, and I'll stay." 
 
 " My dear Tom ! " said his mother, " I could not 
 possibly do without you." 
 
 " Take Julia. I'll look after the house, and Dil- 
 Iwyn will look after your baggage." 
 
 "And who will look after you, you silly boy? 
 said his sister. " You're the worst charge of all "
 
 58 NOBODY. 
 
 "What is the matter?" Philip asked now. 
 
 " Women's notions," said Tom. " Women are al- 
 ways full of notions ! They can spy game at awk's 
 distance; only they make a mistake sometimes, 
 which the hawk don't, I reckon; and think they 
 see something when there is nothing." 
 
 " We know what we see this time," said his sister. 
 " Philip, he's dreadfully caught." 
 
 "Not the first time?" said Dillwyn humorously. 
 "No danger, is there?" 
 
 " There is real danger," said Miss Julia. " He is 
 caught with an impossible country girl." 
 
 " Caught by her ? Fie, Tom ! aren't you wiser ? " 
 
 " That's not fair ! " cried Tom hotly. " She catches 
 nobody, nor tries it, in the way you mean. I am 
 not caught, either; that's more; but you shouldn't 
 speak in that way." 
 
 "Who is the lady? It is very plain Tom isn't 
 caught. But where is she?" 
 
 "She is a little country girl, come to see the 
 world for the first time. Of course, she makes great 
 eyes; and the eyes are pretty; and Tom couldn't 
 stand it." Miss Julia spoke laughing, yet serious. 
 
 " I should not think a little country girl would 
 be dangerous to Tom." 
 
 "No, would you? It's vexatious, to have one's 
 confidence in one's brother so shaken." 
 
 "What's the matter with her?" broke out Tom 
 here. " I am not caught, as you call it, neither by 
 her nor with her ; but if you want to discuss her, I 
 Bay, what's the matter with her?"
 
 IN COUNCIL. j> 
 
 "Nothing, Tom!" said his mother soothingly; 
 "there is nothing whatever the matter with her; 
 and I have no doubt she is a nice girl. But she 
 has no education." 
 
 "Hang education!" said Tom. "Anybody can 
 pick that up. She can talk, I can tell you, better 
 than anybody of all those you had round your table 
 the other day. She's an uncommon good talker.'' 
 
 "You are, you mean," said his sister; "and she 
 listens and makes big eyes. Of course, nothing 
 can be more delightful. But Tom, she knows noth- 
 ing at all; not so much as how to dress herself." 
 
 " Wasn't she well enough dressed the other 
 day?" 
 
 " Somebody arranged that for her." 
 
 "Well, somebody could do it again. You girls 
 think so much of dressing. It isn't the first thing 
 about a woman after all." 
 
 "You men think enough about it, though. What 
 would tempt you to go out with me if I wasn't 
 assez bien mise? Or what would take any man 
 down Broadway with his wife if she hadn't a 
 hoop on?" 
 
 "Doesn't the lady in question wear a hoop?" 
 inquired Philip. 
 
 " No, she don't." 
 
 " Singular want of taste ! " 
 
 " Well, you don't like them ; but after all, it's the 
 fashion, and one can't help oneself. And as 1 said, 
 you may not like them, but you wouldn't walk 
 with me if I hadn't one."
 
 60 NOBODY. 
 
 "Then, to sum up the deficiencies of this ludy ; 
 as I understand, are, education, and a hoop ? Is 
 that all?" 
 
 " By no means ! " cried Mrs. Caruthers. " She is 
 nobody, Philip. She comes from a family in the 
 country very respectable people, I have no doubt, 
 but, well, she is nobody. No connections, no 
 habit of the world. And no money. They are 
 quite poor people." 
 
 "That is serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in 
 such straitened circumstances himself. I was 
 thinking, he might be able to provide the hoop; 
 but if she has no money, it is critical." 
 
 "You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is 
 all the comfort one gets from a man. But he does 
 not laugh when it comes to be his own case and 
 matters have gone too far to be mended, and he is 
 feeling the consequences of his rashness." 
 
 " You speak as if I were in danger ! But I do 
 not see how it should come to be 'my own case,' 
 as I never even saw the lady. Who is she ? and 
 where is she? and how comes she so dangerous 
 to be visiting you ? " 
 
 All spoke now at once, and Philip heard a con- 
 fused medley of " Mrs. Wishart*" " Miss Lothrop " 
 "staying with .her" "poor cousin" "kind to 
 her of course." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn's countenance changed. 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart!" he echoed. "Mrs. Wishart is 
 irreproachable." 
 
 "Certainly, but that does not put a penny in
 
 IN COUNCIL. 61 
 
 Miss Lothrop's pocket, nor give her position, nor 
 knowledge of the world." 
 
 " What do you mean by knowledge of the world ? " 
 Mr. Dillwyn inquired with slow words. 
 
 " Why ! you know. Just the sort of thing that 
 makes the difference between the raw and the man- 
 ufactured article," Miss Julia answered laughing. 
 She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly 
 " manufactured " herself. No crude ignorances or 
 deficiencies there. " The sort of thing that makes 
 a person at home and au fait everywhere, and in 
 all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses and 
 inelegancies. 
 
 " Does it shut them out ? " 
 
 " Why of course ! How can you ask ? What 
 else will shut them out ? All that makes the 
 difference between a woman of the world and 
 a milkmaid." 
 
 " This little girl, I understand then, is awkward 
 and inelegant?" 
 
 " She is nothing of the kind ! " Tom burst out 
 " Ridiculous ! " But Dillwyn waited for Miss Ju-. 
 lia's answer. 
 
 "I cannot call her just aivkward" said Mrs. 
 Caruthers. 
 
 " N-o," said Julia, " perhaps not. She has been 
 living with Mrs. Wishart, you know, and has got 
 accustomed to a certain set of things. She does 
 not strike you unpleasantly in society, seated at a 
 lunch table for instance; but of course all beyond 
 the lunch table is like London to a Laplander."
 
 62 NOBODY. 
 
 Tom flung himself out of the room. 
 
 "And that is what you are going to Florida 
 for?" pursued Dillwyn. 
 
 "You have guessed it? Yes, indeed. Do you 
 know, there seems to be nothing else to do. Tom 
 is in actual danger. 1 know he goes very often to 
 Mrs. Wishart's ; and you know Tom is impressible ; 
 and before we know it he might do something he 
 \vould be sorry for. The only thing is to get him 
 away." 
 
 " I think I will go to Mrs. Wishart's too," said 
 Philip. "Do you think there would be danger." 
 
 " I don't know ! " said Miss Julia arching her 
 brows. " I never can comprehend why the men 
 take such furies of fancies for this girl or for that. 
 To me they do not seem so different. I believe 
 this girl takes just because she is not like the 
 rest of what one sees every day." 
 
 " That might be a recommendation. Did it never 
 strike you, Miss Julia, that there is a certain de- 
 gree of sameness in our world. Not in nature, for 
 there the variety is simply endless; but in our 
 ways of living. Here the effort seems to be to 
 fall in with one general pattern. Houses and 
 dresses; and entertainments, and even the routine 
 of conversation. Generally speaking, it is all one 
 thing." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Julia with spirit, " when any- 
 thing is once recognized as the right thing, of 
 course, everybody wants to conform to it" 
 
 " I have not recognized it as the right thing."
 
 IN COUNCIL. 63 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "This uniformity." 
 
 44 What would you have? " 
 
 " I think I would like to see, for a change, free- 
 dom and individuality. Why should a woman with 
 sharp features dress her hair in a manner that sets 
 off their sharpness, because her neighbour with a 
 classic head can draw it severely about her in close 
 bands and coils and so only the better shew its no- 
 bility of contour? Why may not a beautiful head 
 of hair be dressed flowingly, because the fashion 
 favours the people who have no hair at all ? Why 
 may not a plain dress set off a fine figure, because 
 the mode is to leave no unbroken line or sweep- 
 ing drapery anywhere? And I might go on end- 
 lessly." 
 
 ''I can't tell, I am sure," said Miss Julia; "but 
 if one lives in the world, it won't do to defy the 
 world. And that you know as well as I." 
 
 "What would happen, I wonder?" 
 
 " The world would quietly drop you. Unless you 
 are a person of importance enough to set a new 
 fashion." 
 
 " Is there not some unworthy bondage about 
 that?" 
 
 " You can't help it, Philip Dillwyn, if there is. 
 We have got to take it as it is; and make the best 
 of it." 
 
 " And this new Fate of Tom's this new Fancy 
 rather, as I understand, she IB quite out of the 
 world?"
 
 64 NOBODY. 
 
 "Quite. Lives in a village in New England 
 somewhere, and grows onions." 
 
 " For market ? " said Philip with a somewhat 
 startled face. 
 
 "No, no!" said Julia laughing "how could you 
 think I meant that? No; I don't know anything 
 about the onions; but she has lived among farmers 
 and sailors all her life, and that is all she knows. 
 And it is perfectly ridiculous, but Tom is so smitten 
 with her that all we can do is to get him away. 
 Fancy, Tom ! " 
 
 " He has got to come back," said Philip rising. 
 "You had better get somebody to take the girl 
 away." 
 
 "Perhaps you will do that?" said Miss Julia 
 laughing. 
 
 " I'll think of it," said Dillwyn as he took leave.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 f)HILIP kept his promise. Thinking however, 
 1 he soon found, did not amount to much till 
 he had seen more; and he went a few days after to 
 Mrs. Wishart's house. 
 
 It was afternoon. The sun was streaming in 
 from the west, filling the sitting room with its 
 splendour; and in the radiance of it Lois was sit- 
 ting with some work. She was as unadorned as 
 when Philip had seen her the other day in the street; 
 her gown was of some plain stuff, plainly made; 
 she was a very unfashionable looking person. But 
 the good figure that Mr. Dillwyn liked to see was 
 there; the fair outlines, simple and graceful, light 
 and girlish ; and the exquisite hair caught the light 
 and shewed its varying, warm, bright tints. It 
 was massed up somehow, without the least artifi- 
 ciality, in order, and yet lying loose and wavy; a 
 beautiful combination which only a few heads can 
 attain to. 
 
 There was nobody else in the room ; and as Lois 
 
 (65)
 
 86 NOBODY. 
 
 rose to meet the visiter, he was iiot flattered to see 
 that she did not recognize him. Then the next 
 minute a flash of light came into her face. 
 
 " I have had the pleasure," said Dillwyn. " I was 
 afraid you were going to ignore the fact." 
 
 "You gave us lunch the other day," said Lois 
 smiling. "Yes, I remember. I shall always re- 
 member." 
 
 "You got home comfortably?" 
 
 "0 yes, after we were so fortified. Mrs. Wishart 
 was quite exhausted, before lunch, I mean." 
 
 "This is a pleasant situation," said Philip, go- 
 ing a step nearer the window. 
 
 " Yes, very ! I enjoy those rocks very much." 
 
 " You have no rocks at home ? " 
 
 "No rocks," said Lois; "plenty of rock, or stone, 
 but it comes up out of the ground just enough to 
 make trouble, not to give pleasure. The country 
 is all level." 
 
 " And you enjoy the variety ? " 
 
 " not because it is variety. But I have been 
 nowhere and have seen nothing in my life." 
 
 " So the world is a great unopened book to you?' 
 said Philip with a smile regarding her. 
 
 "It- will always be that, I think," Lois replied, 
 shaking her head. 
 
 " Why should it ? " 
 
 " I live at Shampuashuh." 
 
 " What then ? Here you are in New York." 
 
 " Yes, wonderfully. But I am going home again. " 
 
 " Not soon ? "
 
 HAPPINESS. 67 
 
 "Very soon. It will be time to begin to make 
 garden in a few days." 
 
 " Can the garden not be made without you ? " 
 
 "Not very well; for nobody knows, except me, 
 just where things were planted last year." 
 
 " And is that important ? " 
 
 " Very important." Lois smiled at his simpli- 
 city. "Because, many things must be changed. 
 They must not be planted where they were last 
 year." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 "They would not do so well. They have all 
 to shift about, like Puss-in-the-corner; and it is 
 puzzling. The peas must go where the corn or 
 the potatoes went; and the corn must find another 
 place, and so on.'' 
 
 "And you are the only one who keep a map of 
 the garden in your head ? " 
 
 " Not in my head," said Lois smiling. " I keep 
 it in my drawer." 
 
 "Ah! That is being more systematic than I 
 gave you credit for." 
 
 " But you cannot do anything with a garden if 
 you have not system." 
 
 "Nor with anything else! But where did you 
 learn that?" 
 
 " In the garden, I suppose," said Lois simply. 
 
 She talked frankly and quietly. Mr. Dillwyn 
 could see by her manner, he thought, that she 
 would be glad if Mrs. Wishart would come in and 
 take him off her hands; but there was no awk-
 
 68 NOBODY. 
 
 wardness or ungracefulness or unreadiness. In 
 fact, it was the grace of the girl that struck him, 
 not her want of it. Then she was so very lovely. 
 A quiet little figure, in her very plain dress ; but the 
 features were exceedingly fair, the clear skin was 
 as pure as a pearl, the head with its crown of soft 
 bright hair might have belonged to one of the Graces. 
 More than all, was the very rare expression and 
 air of the face. That Philip could not read; he 
 could not decide what gave the girl her special 
 beauty. Something in the mind or soul of her, he 
 was sure; and he longed to get at it and find out 
 what it was. 
 
 She is not commonplace, he said to himself, 
 while lie was talking something else to her; but 
 it is more than being not commonplace. She is 
 very pure; but I have seen other pure faces. It 
 is not that she is a Madonna; this is no creature 
 
 ". . . . too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 But what "daily food" for human nature she 
 would be ! She is -a lofty creature ; yet she is a 
 half timid country girl ; and I suppose she does not 
 know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably 
 Mrs. Caruthers was right; she would not do for 
 Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough for her ! 
 She is a little country girl, and she does not know 
 much; and yet happy will be the man to whom 
 she will give a free kiss of those wise, sweet lips !
 
 HAPPINESS. 69 
 
 With these somewhat contradictory thoughts 
 running through his mind, Mr. Dillwyn set him- 
 self seriously to entertain Lois. As she had never 
 travelled, he told her of things he had seen and 
 things he had known without seeing in his own 
 many journeyings about the world. Presently Lois 
 dropped her work out of her hands, forgot it, and 
 turned upon Mr. Dillwyn a pair of eager, intelligent 
 eyes, which it was a pleasure to talk to. He be- 
 came absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering 
 to the attention and curiosity and power of im- 
 agination he had aroused. What listeners her 
 eyes were ! and how quick to receive and keen 
 to pass judgement was the intelligence behind 
 them. It surprised him; however its responses 
 were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he 
 tried to get a fair share of words from her too; 
 sought to draw her out. Lois was not afraid to 
 speak ; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, 
 that supposed her words incapable of giving pleas- 
 ure and would not speak them as a matter of con- 
 ventionality, she said very few. At last Philip 
 made a determined effort to draw her out. 
 
 " I have told you now about my home," he 
 said. " What is yours like ? " And his manner 
 said, I am going to stop and you are going to 
 begin. 
 
 "There is nothing striking about it, I think," 
 said Lois. 
 
 " Perhaps you think so, just because it is fa- 
 miliar to you."
 
 70 NOBODY. 
 
 "No, it is because there is really not much to 
 tell about it. There are just level farm fields; and 
 the river, and the Sound." 
 
 "The river?" 
 
 "The Connecticut." 
 
 " that is where you are, is it ? And are you 
 near the river ? " 
 
 "Not very near. About as near the river on 
 one side as we are to the Sound on the other; 
 either of them is a mile and more away." 
 
 "You wish they were nearer?" 
 
 "No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is 
 always the pleasure of going to them." 
 
 "Then you should wish them further. A mile 
 is a short drive." 
 
 "0, we do not drive much. We walk to the 
 shore often, and sometimes to the river." 
 
 " You like the large water so much the best ? " 
 
 " I think I like it best," said Lois laughing a 
 little; "but we go for clams." 
 
 " Can you get them yourself? " 
 
 "Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to 
 drive in the Park, we go to dig clams. And I 
 think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by." 
 
 " Do tell me about the clams." 
 
 " Do you like them ? " 
 
 " I suppose I do. I do not know them. What 
 are they ? the usual little soup fish ? " 
 
 " I don't know about soup fish. no ! not 
 those; they are not the sort Mrs. Wishart has 
 sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I
 
 HAPPINESS. 71 
 
 mean; longish and blackish; and do not taste like 
 the clams you have here." 
 
 " Better, I hope ? " 
 
 "A great deal better. There is nothing much 
 pleasanter than a dish of long clams that you have 
 dug yourself. At least we think so." 
 
 "Because you have got them yourself!" 
 
 "No; but I suppose that helps." 
 
 " So you get them by digging ? " 
 
 "Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the 
 edge of the water, where the rushes grow, in the 
 mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then, 
 in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as 
 big as a lead pencil would make; those are the 
 clam holes." 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " Then we dig for them ; dig with a hoe ; and you 
 must dig very fast or the clam will get away from 
 you. Then, if you get pretty near him he spits at 
 you." 
 
 " I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance." 
 
 " It may come in your face." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair 
 creature who was talking to him, and finding ir 
 hard to imagine her among the rushes racing with 
 a long clam. 
 
 " It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the 
 clams ? " 
 
 " yes. One must take off shoes and stockings 
 and go barefoot. But the mud is warm, and it is 
 pleasant enough."
 
 72 NOBODY. 
 
 "The clams must be good, to reward the trouble. 
 
 " We think it is as pleasant to get them as to 
 eat them." 
 
 " I believe you remarked, this sport is your sub- 
 stitute for our Central Park ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is a sort of a substitute." 
 
 " And, in the comparison, you think you are the 
 gainers ? " 
 
 "You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; 
 "only that both are ways of seeking pleasure." 
 
 "So you say; and I wanted your comparative 
 estimate of the two ways." 
 
 "Central Park is new to me, you know," said 
 Lois; "and I am very fond of riding, driving, 
 Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the scene is 
 like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is 
 better fun, really, than going after clams. And the 
 people do not seem to enjoy it a quarter as much." 
 
 "The people whom you see driving?" 
 
 "Yes. They do not look as if they were taking 
 much pleasure. Most of them." 
 
 " Pray why should they go, if they do not find 
 pleasure in it ? " 
 
 Lois looked at her questioner. 
 
 " You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For 
 the same reasons, I suppose, that they do other 
 things." 
 
 "Pardon me, what things do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean, all the things they do for pleasure, or 
 that are supposed to be for pleasure. Parties lun- 
 cheon parties, and dinners, and " Lois hesitated.
 
 HAPPINESS. 7d 
 
 " Supposed to be for pleasure ! " Philip echoed the 
 words. " Excuse me but what makes you think 
 they do not gain their end ? " 
 
 " People do not look really happy," said Lois. 
 " They do not seem to me as if they really enjoyed 
 what they were doing." 
 
 " You are a nice observer ! " 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 " Pray, at I forget the name your home in the 
 country, are the people more happily constituted ? " 
 
 "Not that I know of. Not more happily con- 
 stituted; but I think they live more natural lives." 
 
 " Instance ! " said Philip, looking curious. 
 
 " Well," said Lois laughing and colouring, " I do 
 not think they do things unless they want to. 
 They do not ask people unless they want to see 
 them; and when they do make a party, everybody 
 has a good time. It is not brilliant, or splendid, 01 
 wonderful, like parties here; but yet I think it is 
 more really what it is meant to be." 
 
 " And here you think things are not what they 
 are meant to be ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. 
 " I have seen so little." 
 
 "You are not mistaken in your general view. 
 It would be a mistake to think there are no 
 exceptions." 
 
 " 1 do not think that." 
 
 " But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you 
 have so soon acquired such keen discernment. Is 
 it that you do not enjoy these occasions yourselt ?"
 
 74 NOBODY. 
 
 "01 enjoy them intensely," said Lois smiling. 
 "Sometimes I think I am the only one of the com- 
 pany that does; but /enjoy them." 
 
 " By the power of what secret talisman ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; being happy, I suppose," said 
 Lois shyly. 
 
 "You are speaking seriously; and therefore you 
 are touching the greatest question of human life. 
 Can you say of yourself that you are truly happy ? n 
 
 Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this 
 questioning, and answered a plain "yes." 
 
 "But, to be happy, with me, means, to be inde 
 pendent of circumstances. I do not call him happy, 
 whose happiness is gone if the east wind blow, or 
 a party miscarry, or a bank break; even though 
 it were the bank in which his property is in- 
 volved." 
 
 " Nor do I," said Lois gravely. 
 
 "And pray forgive me for asking! but, are 
 you happy in this exclusive sense ? " 
 
 " I have no property in a bank," said Lois smil- 
 ing again; "I have not been tried that way; but 
 I suppose it may do as well to have no property 
 anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dilhvyn." 
 
 "But that is equal to having the philosopher's 
 etone!" cried Dillwyn. 
 
 " What is the philosopher's stone ? 
 
 " The wise men of old time made themselves very 
 busy in the search for some substance, or composi- 
 tion, which would turn other substances to gold. 
 Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felic-
 
 HAPPINESS. 75 
 
 ity, they spent endless pains and countless time upon 
 the search for this transmuting substance. They 
 thought, if they could get gold enough, they would 
 be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he 
 was just upon the point of making the immortal 
 discovery; but there he always broke down." . 
 
 "They were looking in the wrong place," said 
 Lois thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Is there a right place to look then?" 
 
 Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip 
 very much, for its calm and confident sweetness; 
 yes, more than that; for its gladness. She was 
 not in haste to answer; apparently she felt some 
 difficulty. 
 
 " I do not think gold ever made anybody happy,"^ 
 she said at length. 
 
 " That is what moralists tell us. But after all, 
 Miss Lothrop, money is the means to everything 
 else in this world?" 
 
 " Not to happiness, is it ? " 
 
 " Well, what is, then ? They say and perhaps 
 you will say that friendships and affections can 
 do more; but I assure you, where there are not the 
 means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, 
 affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, 
 they bear no golden fruit of happiness. On the 
 contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to the stings 
 of pain." 
 
 " Money can do a great deal " said Lois. 
 
 " What can do more?" 
 
 Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her ques-
 
 76 NOBODY. 
 
 tioner inquiringly. Did he know no better than 
 that? 
 
 " With money, one can do everything," he went 
 on, though struck by her expression. 
 
 " Yes " said Lois; " and yet all that never sat- 
 isfied anybody." 
 
 "Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very 
 large word. Who is satisfied?" 
 
 Lois glanced up again, mutely. 
 
 " If I dared venture to say so you look, Miss 
 Lothrop, you absolutely look, as if you were; and 
 yet it is impossible." 
 
 "Why is it impossible?" 
 
 " Because it is what all the generations of men 
 ,have been trying for, ever since the world began; 
 and none of them ever found it." 
 
 " Not if they looked for it in their money bags,' 
 said Lois. " It was never found there." 
 
 " Was it ever found anywhere ? " 
 
 " Why yes ! " 
 
 " Pray tell me where, that I may have it too ! " 
 
 The girl's cheeks flashed ; and what was very odd 
 to Philip, her eyes, he was sure, had grown moist; 
 but the lids fell over them, and he could not see as 
 well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he 
 thought in this its mood of stirred gravity. 
 
 "Do you ever read the Bible, Mr. Dillwyn?" 
 
 The question occasioned him a kind of revulsion. 
 The Bible ! was that to be brought upon his head ? 
 A confused notion of organ-song, the solemnity of 
 a still house, a white surplice, and words in meas-
 
 HAPPINESS. 77 
 
 ured cadence, came over him. Nothing in that 
 connection had ever given him the idea of being 
 satisfied. But Lois's question 
 
 "The Bible?" he repeated. "May I ask, why 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " I thought you did not know something that is 
 in it." 
 
 " Very possibly. It is the business of clergymen, 
 isn't it, to tell us what is in it? That is what they 
 are paid for. Of what are you thinking ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in 
 it, I mean, who said just what you said a minute 
 ago." 
 
 " What was that ? And who was that ?" 
 
 " It was a poor woman who once held a long talk 
 with the Lord Jesus as he was resting beside a 
 well. She had come to draw water, and Jesus asked 
 her for some; and then he told her that whoever 
 drank of that water would thirst again as she 
 knew ; but whoever should drink of the water that 
 he would give, should never thirst. I was telling 
 you of that water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman 
 answered just what you answered ' Give me this 
 water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to 
 draw.'" 
 
 "Did she get it?" 
 
 " I think she did." 
 
 "You mean, something that satisfied her, and 
 would satisfy me?" 
 
 "It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said 
 Lois.
 
 78 NOBODY. 
 
 " But you know, I do not in the least understand 
 
 you." 
 
 The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay 
 upon a distant table. Philip looked at the book a p 
 she brought it near; no volume of Mrs. Wishart's, 
 he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her 
 in the drawing room. She must be one of the de- 
 vout kind. He was sorry. He believed they were 
 a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given to 
 laying down the law and erecting barricades across 
 other people's paths. He was sorry this fair girl 
 was one of them. But she was a lovely specimen. 
 Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, 
 what was she going to bring forth to him out of the 
 Bible? He watched the fingers that turned the 
 leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, but not 
 very white. Gardening probably was not conducive 
 to the blanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. 
 She found her place so soon that he had little time 
 to think his regrets. 
 
 " You allowed that nobody is satisfied, Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn," said Lois then. "See if you understand 
 this." 
 
 " ' Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
 waters; and he that hath no money; come ye, buy 
 and eat; yea come, buy wine and milk without 
 money and without price. Wherefore do ye spend 
 money for that which is not bread ? and your labour 
 for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently 
 unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let 
 your soul delight itself in fatness.' "
 
 HAPPINESS. 79 
 
 Lois closed her book. 
 
 "Who says that?" Philip enquired. 
 
 " God himself, by his messenger." 
 
 " And to whom ? " 
 
 " I think, just now, the words come to you, Mr. 
 Dillwyn." Lois said this with a manner and look 
 of such simplicity, that Philip was not even re- 
 minded of the class of monitors he had in his mind 
 assigned her with. It was absolute simple matter 
 of fact ; she meant business. 
 
 " May I look at it ? " he said. 
 
 She found the page again, and he considered it. 
 Then as he gave it back, remarked, 
 
 " This does not tell me yet what this satisfying 
 food is?" 
 
 " No, that you can know only by experience." 
 
 " How is the experience to be obtained ? " 
 
 Again Lois found the words in her book and 
 shewod them to him. " ' Whosoever drinketh of 
 the water that I shall give him' and again, above, 
 'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is 
 that saith to thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest 
 have asked of him, and he tvoidd have given thee 
 living water.' Christ gives it, and he must be 
 asked for it." 
 
 " And then? " said Philip. 
 
 " Then, you would be satisfied" 
 
 " You think it ? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " It takes a great deal to satisfy a man 
 
 "Not more than it does for a woman."
 
 80 NOBODY. 
 
 " And you are satisfied ? " he asked searchingly. 
 
 But Lois smiled as she gave her answer; and 
 it was an odd and very inconsistent thing that 
 Philip should be disposed to quarrel with her for 
 that smile. I think he wished she were not satis- 
 fied. It was very absurd, but he did not reason 
 about it; he only felt annoyed. 
 
 "Well, Miss Lothrop," he said as he rose, "1 
 shall never forget this conversation. I am very 
 glad no one came in to interrupt it." 
 
 Lois had no phrases of society ready, and re- 
 plied nothing.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 
 
 MR. DILLWYN walked away from Mrs. Wish- 
 art's in a discontented mood which was not 
 usual with him. He felt almost annoyed with 
 something; yet did not quite know what, and he 
 did not stop to analyse the feeling. He walked 
 away, wondering at himself for being so discom- 
 posed, and pondering with sufficient distinctness 
 one or two questions which stood out from the 
 discomposure. 
 
 He was a man who had gone through all the 
 usual routine of education and experience common 
 to those who belong to the upper class of society 
 and can boast of a good name and family. He 
 had lived his college life; he had travelled; he 
 knew the principal cities of his own country, and 
 many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. 
 Speaking generally, he had seen everything, and 
 knew everybody. He had ceased to be surprised 
 at anything, or to expect much from the world 
 beyond what his own efforts and talents could 
 procure him. His connections arid associations had 
 been always with good society and with the old 
 
 (81)
 
 82 NOBODY. 
 
 and established portions of it; but he had come 
 into possession of his property not so very long 
 ago, and the pleasure of that was not yet worn off. 
 He was a man who thought himself happy, and 
 certainly possessed a very high place in the esteem 
 of those who knew him ; being educated, travelled, 
 clever, and of noble character, and withal rich. It 
 was the oddest thing for Philip to walk as he 
 walked now, musingly, with measured steps, and 
 eyes bent on the ground. There was a most 
 strange sense of uneasiness upon him. 
 
 The image of Lois busied him constantly. It 
 was such a lovely image. But he had seen hun- 
 dreds of handsomer women, he told himself. Had 
 he? Yes, he thought so. Yet not one, not one, 
 of them all, had made as much impression upon 
 him. It was inconvenient; and why was it incon- 
 venient ? Something about her bewitched him. 
 Yes, he had seen handsomer women; but more or 
 less they were all of a certain pattern ; not alike in 
 feature, or name, or place, or style, yet neverthe- 
 less all belonging to the general sisterhood of what 
 is called the world. And this girl was different. 
 How different? She was uneducated, but that 
 could not give a charm; though Philip thereby 
 reflected that there was a certain charm in variety, 
 and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to 
 the great world and its ways; there could be no 
 charm in that, for he liked the utmost elegance of 
 the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up 
 again. Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Noth-
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 83 
 
 ing of the kind. She was utterly and truly refined, 
 in every look and word and movement shewing 
 that she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as 
 Mrs. Caruthers would have expressed it. No, she 
 had not. She had no trained and inevitable way 
 of speaking and looking; her way was her own, 
 and sprang naturally from the truth of her thought 
 or feeling at the moment. Therefore it could never 
 be counted upon, and gave one the constant pleasure 
 of surprises. Yes, Philip concluded that this was 
 one point of interest about her. She had not 
 learned how to hide herself, and the manner of 
 her revelations was a continual refreshing variety, 
 inasmuch as what she had to reveal was only fair 
 and delicate and true. But what made the girl 
 so provokingly happy? so secure in her content- 
 ment? Mr. Dillwyn thought himself a happy 
 man; content with himself and with life; yet life 
 had readied something too like a dead level, and 
 himself, he was conscious, led a purposeless sort of 
 existence. What purpose indeed was there to 
 live for? But this little girl Philip recalled the 
 bright, soft, clear expression of eye with which 
 she had looked at him ; the very sweet curves of 
 happy consciousness about her lips; the confident 
 bearing with which she had spoken, as one who 
 had found a treasure which, as she said, satisfied 
 her. But it cannot ! said Philip to himself. It is 
 that she is pure and sweet, and takes happiness 
 like a baby, sucking in what seems to her the 
 pure milk of existence. It is true, the remembered
 
 84 NOBODY. 
 
 expression of Lois's features did not quite agree 
 with this explanation; pure and sweet, no doubt, 
 but also grave and high, and sometimes evidencing 
 a keen intellectual perception and wisdom. Not 
 just like a baby ; and he found he could not dis- 
 miss the matter so. What made her then so hap- 
 py? Philip could not remember ever seeing a 
 grown person who seemed so happy; whose happi- 
 ness seemed to rest on such a steady foundation. 
 Can she be in love ? thought Dillwyn ; and the idea 
 gave him a most unreasonable thrill of displeasure. 
 For a moment only; then his reason told him that 
 the look in Lois's face was not like that. It was 
 not the brilliance of ecstasy, it was the sunshine 
 of deep and fixed content, Why in the world 
 should Mr. Dillwyn wish that Lois were not so 
 content? so beyond what he or anybody could 
 give her? And having got to this point, Mr. 
 Dillwyn pulled himself up again. What business 
 was it of his, the particular spring of happiness 
 she had found to drink of? and if it quenched 
 her thirst, as she said it did, why should he be 
 anything but glad of it ? Why, even if Lois were 
 happy in some new-found human treasure, should 
 it move him, Philip Dillwyn, with discomfort? 
 Was it possible that he too could be following in 
 those steps of Tom Caruthers, from which Tom's 
 mother was at such pains to divert her son ? 
 Philip began to see where he stood. Could it be ? 
 and what if? 
 
 He studied the question now with a clear view
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 85 
 
 of its bearings. He had got out of a fog. Lois 
 was all he had thought of her. Would she do for 
 a wife for him ? Uneducated inexperienced not 
 agreed with the habits of the world wonted to very 
 different habits and society with no family to give 
 weight to her name and honour to his choice, all 
 that Philip pondered; and on the other side, the 
 loveliness, the freshness, the intellect, the character, 
 and the refinement, which were undoubted. He 
 pondered and pondered. A girl who was nobody, 
 and whom society would look upon as an intruder ; a 
 girl who had had no advantages of education how 
 she could express herself so well and so intelligently 
 Philip could not conceive, but the fact was there; 
 Lois had had no education beyond the most simple 
 training of a school in the country ; would it do ? 
 He turned it all over and over, and shook his head. 
 It would be too daring an experiment; it would not 
 be wise; it would not do; he must give it up, all 
 thought of such a thing; and well that he had come 
 to handle the question so early, as else he might 
 he might have got so entangled that he could 
 not^ save himself. Poor Tom ! But Philip had no 
 mother to interpose to save him; and his sister was 
 not at hand. He went thinking about all this the 
 whole way back to his hotel ; thinking, and shaking 
 his head at it. No, this kind of thing was for a 
 boy to do, not for a man who knew the world 
 And yet, the image of Lois worried him. 
 
 I believe, he said to himself, I had better not see 
 the little witch again.
 
 86 JNOBODY. 
 
 Meanwhile he was not going to have much op- 
 portunity. Mrs. Wishart came home a little while 
 after Philip had gone. Lois was stitching by the 
 last fading light. 
 
 " Do stop, my dear ! you will put your eyes out. 
 Stop, and let us have tea. Has anybody been 
 here ? " 
 
 "Mr. Dillwyn came. He went away hardly a 
 quarter of an hour ago." 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn ! Sorry I missed him. But he will 
 come again. I met Tom Caruthers; he is mourn- 
 ing about this going with his mother to Florida." 
 
 " What are they going for? " asked Lois. 
 
 "To escape the March winds, he says." 
 
 " Who ? Mr. Caruthers ? He does not look deli- 
 nate." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Not very! And his 
 mother don't either, does she ? But, my dear, peo- 
 ple are weak in different spots; it isn't always in 
 their lungs." 
 
 "Are there no March winds in Florida?" 
 
 "Not where they are going. It is all sunshine 
 and oranges and orange blossoms. But Tom is 
 not delighted with the prospect. What do you 
 think of that young man ? " 
 
 " He is a very handsome man." 
 
 " Is he not? But I did not mean that. Of course 
 you have eyes. J want to know whether you have 
 judgment." 
 
 "I have not seen much of Mr. Caruthers to 
 judge by."
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 87 
 
 "No. Take what you have seen, and make the 
 most of it." 
 
 " I don't think I have judgment," said Lois 
 " About people, I mean, and men especially. I am 
 not accustomed to New York people, besides." 
 
 " Are they different from Shampuashuh people V '' 
 
 " very." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Miss Caruthers asked me the same thing," said 
 Lois smiling. " I suppose at bottom all people are 
 alike; indeed I know they are. But in the country 
 1 think they shew out more." 
 
 " Less disguise about them ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " My dear, are we such a set of masqueraders in 
 your eyes?" 
 
 "No " said Lois; " I did not mean that." 
 
 " What do you think of Philip Dillwyn? Com- 
 pare him with young Caruthers." 
 
 " I cannot," said Lois. " Mr. Dillwyn strikes me 
 as a man who knows everything there is in all the 
 world." 
 
 "And Tom, you think, does not?" 
 
 " Not so much," said Lois hesitating; "at least he 
 does not impress me so." 
 
 "You are more impressed with Mr. Dillwyn?" 
 
 "In what way? "said Lois simply. "I am im- 
 pressed with the sense of my own ignorance. I 
 tfh.mld be oppressed by it, if it was my fault." 
 
 " Now you speak like a sensible girl, as you are. 
 Lois, men do not care about women knowing much."
 
 88 NOBODY. 
 
 "Sensible men must." 
 
 " They are precisely the ones who do not. It is 
 odd enough, but it is a fact. But go on; which of 
 these two do you like best?" 
 
 " I have seen most of Mr. Caruthers, you know. 
 But Mrs. Wishart, sensible men must like sense in 
 other people?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; they do ; unless when they want 
 to marry the people; and then their choice very 
 often lights upon a fool. I have seen it over and 
 over and over again ; the clever one of a family is 
 passed by and a silly sister is the one chosen." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " A pink and white skin, or a pair of black brows, 
 or perhaps some soft blue eyes." 
 
 " But people cannot live upon a pair of black 
 brows," said Lois. 
 
 "They find that out afterwards." 
 
 "Mr. Dillwyn talks as if he liked sense," said 
 Lois. " I mean, he talks about sensible things." 
 
 "Do you mean that Tom don't, my dear?" 
 
 A slight colour rose on the cheek Mrs. Wishart 
 was looking at; and Lois said somewhat hastily 
 that she was not comparing. 
 
 " I shall try to find out what Tom talks to you 
 about, when he comes back from Florida. I shall 
 scold him if he indulges in nonsense." 
 
 " It will be neither sense nor nonsense. I shall 
 be gone long before then." 
 
 " Gone whither? " 
 
 "Home to Shampuashuh. I have been wanting
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 89 
 
 to speak to you about it, Mrs. Wishart. I must go 
 in a very few days." 
 
 " Nonsense ! I shall not let you. I cannot get 
 along without you. They don't want you at home, 
 Lois.'' 
 
 " The garden does. And the dairy work will be 
 more now in a week or two; there will be more 
 milk to take care of, and Madge will want help." 
 
 "Dairy work! Lois, you must not do dairy work. 
 You will spoil your hands." 
 
 Lois laughed. "Somebody's hands must do it. 
 But Madge takes care of the dairy. My hands see 
 to the garden." 
 
 "Is it necessary?" 
 
 '^Why yes, ma'am, certainly, if we would have 
 butter or vegetables; and you would not counsel 
 us to do without them. The two make half the liv- 
 ing of the family." 
 
 "And you really cannot afford a servant?" 
 
 " No, nor want one," said Lois. " There are three 
 of us, and so we get along nicely." 
 
 "Apropos; My dear, I am sorry that it is so, but 
 must is must. What I wanted to say to you is, that 
 it is riot necessary to tell all this to other people." 
 
 Lois looked up, surprised. " I have told no one 
 but you, Mrs. Wishart. O yes! I did speak to Mr. 
 Dillwyn about it, I believe." 
 
 " Yes. Well, there is no occasion, my dear. It 
 is just as well not." 
 
 "Is it better not? What is the harm? Every- 
 body at Shampuashuh knows it."
 
 90 NOBODY. 
 
 " Nobody knows it here ; and there is no reason 
 why they should. I meant to tell you this before." 
 
 " I think I have told nobody but Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 14 He is safe. I only speak for the future, my dear." 
 
 " I don't understand yet," said Lois half laughing. 
 " Mrs. Wishart, we are not ashamed of it." 
 
 "Certainly not, my dear; you have no occasion." 
 
 "Then why should we be ashamed of it?" Lois 
 persisted. 
 
 " My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. 
 Do not think I mean that. Only, people here would 
 not understand it." 
 
 "How could they misunderstand it?" 
 
 " You do not know the world, Lois. People have 
 peculiar ways of looking at things; and they put 
 their own interpretation on things; and of course 
 they often make great blunders. And so, it is just 
 as well to keep your own private affairs to yourself, 
 and not give them the opportunity of blundering." 
 
 Lois was silent a little while. 
 
 "You mean," she said then, "you think, that 
 some of these people I have been seeing here, would 
 think less of me, if they knew how we do at home?" 
 
 " They might, my dear. People are just so stupid 
 as that." 
 
 "Then it seems to me I ought to let them know," 
 Lois said, half laughing again. " I do not like to 
 be taken for what I am not; and I do not want 
 to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." 
 Her colour rose a bit at the same time. 
 
 "My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody
 
 THE WORTH OF THINGS. 91 
 
 that once knew you would judge you for yourself, 
 and but upon any adventitious circumstances. They 
 cannot, m my opinion, think of you too highly." 
 
 " I think it is better they should know at once 
 that I am a poor girl," said Lois. However, she 
 reflected privately that it did not matter, as she 
 was going away so soon. And she remembered 
 also that Mr. Dillwyn had not seemed to think any 
 the less of her for what she had told him. Did 
 Tom Caruthers know ? 
 
 " But Lois, my dear, about your going There 
 is no garden work to be done yet. It is March." 
 
 " It will soon be April. And the ground must 
 be got ready, and potatoes must go in, and peas." 
 
 " Surely somebody else can stick in potatoes and 
 peas." 
 
 "They would not know where to put them." 
 
 " Does it matter, where ?" 
 
 " To be sure it does ! " said Lois amused. " They 
 must not go where they were last year." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I don't know ! It seems that every plant wants 
 a particular sort of food, and gets it, if it can; and 
 so, the place where it grows is more or less impov- 
 erished and would have less to give it another year. 
 But a different sort of plant requiring a different 
 sort of food, would be all right in that place." 
 
 " Food?" said Mrs. Wishart. " Do you mean ma- 
 nure? you can have that put in." 
 
 " No, I do not mean that. I mean something the 
 plant gets from the soil itself."
 
 92 NOBODY. 
 
 "I do not understand! Well, my dear, write 
 them word where the peas must go." 
 
 Lois laughed again. 
 
 " I hardly know myself, till I have studied the 
 map," she said. " I mean, the map of the garden. 
 It is a more difficult matter than you can guess, to 
 arrange all the new arrangement every spring; all 
 has to be changed; and upon where the peas go 
 depends, perhaps, where the cabbages go, and the 
 corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It is 
 a matter for study." 
 
 " Can't somebody else do it for you?" Mrs. Wish- 
 art asked compassionately. 
 
 " There is no one else. We have just our three 
 selves; and all that is done we do; and the garden 
 is under my management." 
 
 " Well, my dear, you are wonderful women; that 
 is all I have to say. But Lois, you must pay me a 
 visit by and by in the summer time; I must have 
 that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, 
 and I am going to have you there." 
 
 " If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wish- 
 art, it would be delightful ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 
 
 IT was a few days later, but March yet, and a keen 
 wind blowing from the sea. A raw day out of 
 doors; so much the more comfortable seemed the 
 good fire, and swept-up hearth, and gentle warmth 
 filling the farmhouse kitchen. The farmhouse was 
 not very large, neither by consequence was the 
 kitchen; however, it was more than ordinarily 
 pleasant to look at, because it was not a servants' 
 room; and so was furnished not only for the work 
 but also for the habitation of the family, who made 
 it in winter almost exclusively their abiding place. 
 The floor was covered with a thick, gay rag carpet ; 
 a settee sofa looked inviting with its bright chintz 
 hangings; rocking chairs, well cushioned, were in 
 number and variety; and a basket of work here 
 and a pretty lamp there spoke of ease and quiet oc- 
 cupation. One person only sat there, in the best easy 
 chair, at the hearth corner; beside her a little table 
 with a large book upon it and a roll of knitting. 
 She was not reading nor working just now; waiting 
 
 (93)
 
 94 NOBODY. 
 
 perhaps, or thinking, with hands folded in her lap. 
 By the look of the hands they had done many a job 
 of hard work in their day; by the look of the face 
 and air of the person one could see that the hard 
 work was over. The hands were bony, thin, en- 
 larged at the joints, so as age and long rough usage 
 make them ; but quiet hands now; and the face was 
 steady and calm, with no haste or restlessness upon 
 it any more, if ever there had been, but a very sweet 
 and gracious repose. It was a hard-featured cou& 
 tenance; it had never been handsome; only the 
 beauty of sense and character it had, and the dig- 
 nity of a well-lived life. Something more too ; some- 
 thing of a more noble calm than even the fairest 
 retrospect can give; a more restful repose than 
 comes of mere cessation from labour; a deeper con- 
 tent than has its ground in the actual present. She 
 was a most reverent person, to see to. Just now 
 she was waiting for something, and listening; for 
 her ear caught the sound of a door, and then the 
 tread of swift feet coming down the stair, and then 
 Lois entered upon the scene; evidently fresh from 
 her journey. She had been to her room to lay by 
 her wrappings and change her dress; she was in a 
 dark stuff gown now, with an enveloping white 
 apron. She came up and kissed once more the face 
 which had watched her entrance. 
 
 "You've been gone a good while, Lois! " 
 "Yes, grandma. Too long, did you think?" 
 " I don' know, child. That depends on what you 
 stayed for."
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 95 
 
 " Does it ? Grandma, I don't know what I stayed 
 for. I suppose, because it was pleasant." 
 
 " Pleasanter than here ? " 
 
 4 Grandma, I haven't been home long enough to 
 know. It all looks and feels so strange to me as 
 you cannot think ! " 
 
 "What looks strange?" 
 
 "Everything! The house, and the place, and 
 the furniture I have been living in such a dif- 
 ferent world, till my eyes have grown unaccus- 
 tomed. You can't think how odd it is." 
 
 " What sort of a world have you been living in, 
 Lois? Your letters didn't tell." The old lady spoke 
 with a certain serious doubtfulness, looking at the 
 girl by her side. 
 
 "Didn't they?" Lois returned. "I suppose I did 
 not give you the impression because I had it not 
 myself. I had got accustomed to that, you see ; and 
 I did not realize how strange it was. I just took 
 it as if I had always lived in it." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " grandma, I can never tell you so that you 
 can understand! It was like living in the Arabian 
 Nights." 
 
 " I don't believe in no Arabian Nights.' 
 
 " And yet they were there, you see. Houses sc 
 beautiful, and filled with such beautiful things; and 
 you know, grandmother, I like things to be pretty; 
 and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's 
 servants go about almost like fairies; they are hardly 
 seen or heard, but the work is done. And you
 
 96 NOBODY. 
 
 never have to think about it; you go out, and come 
 home to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; 
 and you sit reading or talking, and do not know 
 how time goes, till it is tea time; and then, there 
 comes the tea; and so it is in doors and out of doors. 
 All that is quite pleasant." 
 
 " And you are sorry to be home again ! " 
 
 "No indeed, 1 am glad. I enjoyed all I have 
 been telling you about, but I think I enjoyed it 
 quite long enough. It is time for me to be here. 
 Is the frost well out of the ground yet ? " 
 
 '* Mr. Bince has been ploughin'." 
 
 " Has he ! I'm glad. Then I'll put in some peas 
 to-morrow. yes ! I am glad to be home, grand- 
 ma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bony 
 ones affectionately. 
 
 " Could you live just right there, Lois? " 
 
 "I tried, grandma." 
 
 " Did all that help you ? " 
 
 " I don't know that it hindered. It might not be 
 good for always; but I was there only for a little 
 while, and I just took the pleasure of it." 
 
 " Seems to me, you was there a pretty long spell, 
 to be called 'a little while.' Aint it a dangerous 
 kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you never get 
 tempted ? " 
 
 "Tempted to what, grandma?" 
 
 " I don' know ! To want to live easy." 
 
 " Would that be wrong ? " said Lois, putting her 
 soft cheek alongside the withered one, so that her 
 wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps it was
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 97 
 
 unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never 
 bribed. 
 
 "It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want 
 to get out o' your duties." 
 
 "I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready 
 for them. And your dinner is the first thing. 
 Madge and Charity you say they are gone to 
 New Haven?" 
 
 "Charity's tooth tormented her so, and Madge 
 wanted to get a bonnet; and they thought they'd 
 make one job of it. They didn't know you was 
 comin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it, 
 to go before you come. They won't be back early 
 n other." 
 
 " What have they left for your dinner ? " said 
 Lois, going to rummage. "Grandma, here's noth- 
 ing at all ! " 
 
 "An egg'll do, dear. They didn't calkilate for 
 you." 
 
 " An egg will do for me," said Lois laughing ; 
 "but there's only a crust of bread." 
 
 "Madge calkilated to make tea biscuits after 
 she come home." 
 
 "Then I'll do that now." 
 
 Lois stripped up the sleeves from her shapely 
 arms, and presently was very busy at the great 
 kitchen table, with the board before her covered 
 with white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin 
 still at work producing more. Then the fire was 
 made up and the tin baker set in front of the blaze, 
 charged with a panful for baking. Lois stripped
 
 98 NOBODY. 
 
 down her sleeves, and set the table, cut ham and 
 fried it, fried eggs, and soon sat opposite Mrs. 
 Armadale pouring her out a cup of tea. 
 
 "This is cosy!" she exclaimed. "It is nice to 
 have you all alone for the first, grandma. What's 
 the news ? " 
 
 "Aint no news, child. Mrs. Saddler's been to 
 New London for a week." 
 
 " And I have come home. Is that all ? " 
 
 " I don't make no count o' news, child. ' One 
 generation passeth away, and another generation 
 cometh; but the earth abideth for ever." 
 
 " But one likes to hear of the things that change, 
 grandma." 
 
 " Do 'ee ? I like to hear of the things that 
 remain." 
 
 " But grandma ! the earth itself changes; at least 
 it is as different in different places as anything 
 can be." 
 
 " Some's cold, and some's hot," observed the old 
 lady. 
 
 " It is much more than that. The trees are dif- 
 ferent, and the fruits are different; and the animals; 
 and the country is different, and the buildings, and 
 the people's dresses." 
 
 " The men and v>omen is the same," said the old 
 lady contentedly. 
 
 " But no, not even that, grandma. They are as 
 different as they can be and still be men and 
 women." 
 
 " ' As in water face answereth to face, so the
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 99 
 
 neart of man to man.' Be the New York folks 
 BO queer, then, Lois ? " 
 
 " O no, not the New York people ; though they are 
 different too ; quite different from Shampuashuh " 
 
 "How?" 
 
 Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, 
 she thought, could not understand her; and if she 
 could understand, she thought she would be per- 
 haps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then 
 came the clearing away the remains of dinner; 
 washing the dishes; baking the rest of the tea- 
 cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; 
 preparing flour for next day's bread-making; mak- 
 ing her own bed and putting her room in order; 
 doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at 
 home to take care of; brushing up the kitchen, 
 putting on the kettle, setting the table for tea. 
 Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, 
 before she could put on her afternoon dress and 
 come and sit down by her grandmother. 
 
 " It is a change ! " she said smiling. " Such a 
 different life from what I have been living. You 
 can't think, grandma, what a contrast between this 
 afternoon and last Friday." 
 
 " What was then? " 
 
 " I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing room, 
 doing nothing but play work, and a gentleman 
 talking to me." 
 
 "Why was he talking to you? Warn't Mm 
 Wishart there ? " 
 
 " No ; she was out."
 
 100 NOBODY. 
 
 "What did he talk to you for?" 
 
 " I was the only one there was," said Lois. But 
 looking back, she could not avoid the thought that 
 Mr. Dillwyn's long stay and conversation had not 
 been solely a taking up with what he could get 
 
 " He could have gone away," said Mrs. Armadale, 
 echoing her thought. 
 
 " I do not think he wanted to go away. I think 
 he liked to talk to me." It was very odd too, she 
 thought. 
 
 " And did you like to talk to him ? " 
 
 " Yes. You know I hare.not much to talk about; 
 but somehow he seemed to find out what there was." 
 
 " Had lie much to talk about ? " 
 
 "I think there is no end to that," said Lois. 
 " He has been all over the world and seen every- 
 thing; and he is a man of sense, to care for the 
 things that are worth while; and he is educated; 
 and it is very entertaining to hear him talk." 
 
 " Who is he ? A young man ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is young. he is an old friend of Mrs. 
 Wishart." 
 
 " Did you like him best of all the people you saw ? " 
 
 " no, not by any means. I hardly know him, 
 in fact; not so well as others." 
 
 " Who are the others ? " 
 
 "What others, grandmother?" 
 
 "The other people that you like better." 
 
 Lois named several ladies, among them Mrs. 
 Wishart, her hostess. 
 
 "There's no men's names among them," remarked
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 101 
 
 Mrs. Armadale. " Didn't you see none, savin' that 
 one?" 
 
 " Plenty ! " said Lois smiling. 
 
 " An' nary one that you liked ? " 
 
 " Why yes, grandmother ; several ; but of course " 
 
 " What, of course ? " 
 
 " I was going to say, of course I did not have 
 much to do with them; but there was one I had a 
 good deal to do with." 
 
 "Who. was he?" 
 
 " He was a young Mr. Caruthers. O I did not 
 have much to do with him; only he was there 
 pretty often, and talked to me. He was pleasant." 
 
 " Was he a real godly man ? " 
 
 *' No, grandmother. He is not a Christian at all, 
 I think." 
 
 " And yet he pleased you, Lois ? " 
 
 "I did not say so, grandmother." 
 
 " I heerd it in the tone of your voice." 
 
 " Did you ? Yes, he was pleasant. I liked him 
 pretty well. People that you would call godly peo- 
 ple never came there at all. I suppose there must 
 be some in New York; but I did not see any." 
 
 There was silence a while. 
 
 "Eliza Wishart must keep poor company, if 
 there aint one godly one among 'em," Mrs. Arma- 
 dale began again. But Lois'was silent. 
 
 " What do they talk about ? " 
 
 " Everything in the world, except that. People 
 and things, and what this one says and what that 
 one did. and this party and that party. I can't tell
 
 102 NOBODY. 
 
 you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and 
 yet it did not amount to much when all was done. 
 I am not speaking of a few, gentlemen like Mr. 
 Dillwyn, and a few more." 
 
 "But he aint a Christian?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor t'other one? the one you liked." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I'm glad you've come away, Lois." 
 
 " Yes, grandma, and so am I ; but why ? " 
 
 "You know why. A Christian woman maunt 
 have nothin' to do with men that aint Christian." 
 
 "Nothing to do ! Why, we must, grandma. We 
 cannot help seeing people and talking to them." 
 
 " The snares is laid that way," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "What are we to do, then, grandmother?" 
 
 " Lois Lothrop," said the old lady suddenly sit 
 ting upright, " what's the Lord's will ? " 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " About drawin' in a yoke with one that don't go 
 your way ? " 
 
 "He says, don't doit." 
 
 " Then mind you don't." 
 
 " But grandma, there is no talk of any such thing 
 in this case," said Lois, half laughing, yet a little 
 annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of such a thing " 
 
 "You don' know what they was thinkin' of." 
 
 " I know what they could not have thought of. 
 I am different from them; I am not of their world; 
 and I am. not educated, and I arn poor. There is no 
 danger, grandmother."
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 103 
 
 "Lois, child, you never know where danger is 
 comin'. It's safe to have your armour on, and keep 
 out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never let yourself 
 like a man that aint Christian ! " 
 
 " But I might not be able to help liking him." 
 "Then promise me you'll never marry no sich a 
 one." 
 
 " Grandma, I'm not thinking of marrying." 
 " Lois, what is the Lord's will about it ? " 
 " 1 know, grandma," Lois answered rather soberly. 
 " And you know why. ' Thy daughter thou shalt 
 not give unto his son, nor his daughter shalt thou 
 take unto thy son. For they will turn away thy 
 son from following me, that they may serve other 
 gods.' I've seen it, Lois, over arid over agin. I've 
 seen a woman or a man witched away and 
 dragged down, till if they hadn't lost all the godli- 
 ness they ever had, it warn't because they didn't 
 seem so. And the children grew up to be scape- 
 graces." 
 
 " Don't it sometimes work the other way ? " 
 "Not often, if a Christian man or woman has 
 married wrong with their eyes open. Cos it proves, 
 Lois, that proves, that the ungodly one of the two 
 has the most power; and what he has he's like to 
 keep. Lois, I mayn't be here allays to look after 
 you; promise me that you'll do the Lord's will." 
 " I hope I will, grandma," Lois answered soberly. 
 "Read them words in Corinthians again." 
 Lois got the Bible and obeyed, " ' Be ye not un- 
 equally yoked together with unbelievers: for what
 
 104 NOBODY. 
 
 fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteous- 
 ness? and what communion hath light with dark- 
 ness? and what concord hath Christ with Belial? or 
 what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?' 
 
 " Lois, aint them words plain ? " 
 
 "Very plain, grandma." 
 
 " Will ye mind 'em ? " 
 
 "Yes, grandma; by his grace." 
 
 "Ay, ye may want it," said the old lady; "but 
 it's safe to trust the Lord. An' I'd rather have 
 you suffer heart-break follerin' the Lord, than goin' 
 t'other way. Now you may read to me, Lois. 
 We'll have it before they come home." 
 
 " Who has read to you while I have been gone ? " 
 
 "0 one and another. Madge mostly; but Madge 
 don't care, and so she don' know how to read." 
 
 Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was 
 the custom for one of the girls, Lois generally, to 
 read her a verse or two morning and evening. 
 Generally it was a small portion, talked over if 
 they had time, and if not, then thought over by the 
 old lady all the remainder of the day or evening, as 
 the case might be. For she was like the man of 
 whom it is written " his delight is in the law of 
 the Lord, and in his law doth he meditate day and 
 night." 
 
 " What shall I read, grandma ? " 
 
 " You can't go wrong." 
 
 The epistle to the Corinthians lay open before 
 Lois, and she read the words following those which 
 had just been called for.
 
 MRS. ARMADALE. 105 
 
 " ' And what agreement hath the temple ol God 
 with idols ? for ye are the temple of the living God ; 
 as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk 
 in them ; and I will be their God, and they shall be 
 my people. Wherefore come ye out from among 
 them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and 
 touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive 
 you, and will be a father unto you, and ye shall be 
 my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.'" 
 
 If anybody had been there to see, the two 
 .vomen made the loveliest picture at this moment. 
 The one of them old, weather-worn, plain-featured, 
 sitting with the quiet cairn of the end of a work 
 day and listening; the other young, blooming, 
 fresh, lovely, with a wealth of youthful charms 
 about her, bending a little over the big book on 
 her lap; on both faces a reverent sweet gravity 
 which was most gracious. Lois read and stopped, 
 without looking up. 
 
 " I think small of all the world, alongside o' that 
 promise, Lois." 
 
 "And so do I, grandmother." 
 
 " But, you see, the Lord's sons and daughters 
 has got to be separate from other folks." 
 
 " In some ways." 
 
 " Of course they've got to live among folks, but 
 they've got to be separate for all ; and keep their 
 garments." 
 
 " I do not believe it is easy in a place like New 
 York," said Lois. " Seems to me, I was getting all 
 mixed up."
 
 106 NOBODY. 
 
 "'Taint easy nowheres, child. Only, where the 
 way is very smooth, folks slides quicker." 
 
 "How can one be 'separate,' always, grandma? 
 in the midst of other people ? " 
 
 " Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk 
 with him ; and you'll be pretty sure to be separate 
 from the most o' folks." 
 
 There was no more said. Lois presently closed 
 the book and laid it away, and the two sat in silence 
 awhile. I will not affirm that Lois did not feel 
 something of a stricture round her, since she had 
 given that promise so clearly. Truly the promise 
 altered nothing, it only made things somewhat more 
 tangible; and there floated now and then past Lois's 
 mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned 
 with graceful locks of luxuriant light brown hair, 
 and a face of winning pleasantness, and eyes that 
 looked eagerly into her eyes. It came up now be- 
 fore her, this vision, with a certain sense of some- 
 thing lost. Not that she had ever reckoned that 
 image as a thing won ; as belonging, or ever possi- 
 bly to belong, to herself; for Lois never had such a 
 thought for a moment. All the same came now 
 the vision before her with the commentary, you 
 never can have it. That acquaintance, and that 
 friendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the 
 past; and whatever for another it might hare led 
 to, it could lead to nothing for you. It was not a 
 defined thought; rather a floating semi-conscious- 
 ness; and Lois presently rose up and went from 
 thought to action.
 
 CHAFFER IX. 
 
 THE FAMILY. 
 
 THE spring day was fading into the dusk of even- 
 ing, when feet and voices heard outside an- 
 nounced that the travellers were returning. And 
 in they came, bringing a breeze of business and a 
 number of tied-up parcels with them into the quiet 
 house. 
 
 "The table ready! how good! and the fire. 
 it's Lois! Lois is here ! " and then there were warm 
 embraces, and then the old grandmother was kissed. 
 There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall. 
 
 "I'm tired to death!" said the former of these. 
 "Charity would do no end of work; you know she 
 is a steam engine, and she had the steam up to-day, 
 I can tell you. There's no saying how good supper 
 will be ; for our lunch wasn't much, and not good 
 at that; and there's something good here, I can tell 
 by my nose. Did you take care of the milk, Lois? 
 you couldn't know where to set it." 
 
 "There is no bread, Lois. I suppose you found 
 out?" the other sister said. 
 
 "0 she's made biscuits!" said Madge. "Aren't 
 
 (107)
 
 108 NOBODY. 
 
 you a brick, though, Lois! I was expecting we'd 
 have everything to do; and it's all done. Ain't that 
 what you call comfortable? Is the tea made? I'll 
 be ready in a minute." 
 
 But that was easier said than done. 
 
 " Lois ! what sort of hats are they wearing in New 
 York?" 
 
 "Lois, are mantillas fashionable? The woman 
 in New Haven, the milliner, said everybody was 
 going to wear them. She wanted to make me get 
 one." 
 
 " We can make a mantilla as well as she can," 
 Lois answered. 
 
 " If we had the pattern! But is everybody wear- 
 ing them in New York?" 
 
 " I think it must be early for mantillas." 
 
 " 0, lined and wadded of course. But is every- 
 body wearing them ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I do not recollect." 
 
 "Not recollect!" cried the tall sister. "What 
 are your eyes good for? What do people wear?" 
 
 " I wore my coat and cape. I do not know very 
 well about other people. People wear different 
 things." 
 
 " O but that they do not, Lois ! " the other sister 
 exclaimed. "There is always one thing that is the 
 fashion; and that is the thing one wants to know 
 about. Last year it was visites. Now what is it 
 this year? And what are the hats like?" 
 
 "They are smaller." 
 
 4i There ! And that woman in New Haven said
 
 THE FAMILY. 109 
 
 they were going to be large still. Who is one to 
 trust!" 
 
 " You may trust me," said Lois. " I am sure of 
 BO much. Moreover, there is my new straw bonnet, 
 which Mrs. Wishart gave me; you can see by that." 
 
 This was very satisfactory; and talk ran on in 
 the same line for some time. 
 
 " And Lois, have you seen a great many people ? 
 At Mrs. Wishart's, I mean." 
 
 "Yes, plenty; at her house and at other houses." 
 
 " Was it great fun ? " Madge asked. 
 
 "Sometimes. But indeed, yes; it was great fun 
 generally, to see the different ways of people, and 
 the beautiful houses, and furniture, and pictures, 
 and everything." 
 
 "Everything! Was everything beautiful?" 
 
 "No, not beautiful; but everything in most of 
 the houses where I went was handsome; often it 
 was magnificent." 
 
 " I suppose it seemed so to you," said Charity. 
 
 "Tell us, Lois!" urged the other sister. 
 
 " What do you think of solid silver dishes to hold 
 the vegetables on the table, and solid silver pudding 
 dishes, and gold tea spoons, in the most delicate 
 little painted cups?" 
 
 " I should say it was ridiculous," said the elder 
 sister. " What's the use o' havin' your vegetables 
 in silver dishes?" 
 
 " What's the use of having them in dishes at all ? * 
 laughed Lois. " They might be served in big cab> 
 bage leaves ; or in baskets."
 
 110 NOBODY. 
 
 " That's nonsense," said Charity. " Of course 
 they must be in dishes of some sort; but vege- 
 tables don't taste any better out o' silver." 
 
 "The dinner does not taste any better," said 
 Lois, " but it looks a deal better, I can tell you, 
 You have just no idea, girls, how beautiful a 
 dinner table can be. The glass is beautiful; deli- 
 cate, thin, clear glass, cut with elegant flowers and 
 vines running over it. And the table linen is a 
 pleasure to see, just the damask ; it is so white and 
 so fine and so smooth, and woven in such lovely 
 designs. Mrs. Wishart is very fond of her table 
 linen, and has it in beautiful patterns. Then silver 
 is always handsome. Then sometimes there is a 
 most superb centre piece to the table; a magnifi- 
 cent tall thing of silver I don't know what to call 
 it; not a vase, and not a dish; but high, and with 
 different bowls or shells filled with flowers and 
 fruit. Why the mere ice creams sometimes were 
 in all sorts of pretty flower and fruit forms." 
 
 " Ice cream ! " cried Madge. 
 
 " And I say, what's the use of all that ? " said 
 Charity, who had not been baptized in character. 
 
 "The use is, its looking so very pretty," Lois 
 answered. 
 
 " And so, I suppose you would like to have your 
 vegetables in silver dishes ? I should like to know 
 why things are any better for looking pretty, when 
 all's done?" 
 
 "They are not better, I suppose," said Madge. 
 
 "I don't know why, but I think they must be,"
 
 THE FAMILY. Ill 
 
 said Lois, innocent of the personal application 
 which the other two were making. For Madge 
 was a very handsome girl, while Charity was hard 
 favoured, like her grandmother. " It does one good 
 to see pretty things." 
 
 "That's no better than pride," said Charity. 
 "Things that aint pretty are just as useful, and 
 more useful. That's all pride, silver dishes, and 
 flowers, and stuff It just makes people stuck 
 up. Don't they think themselves, all those grand 
 folks, don't they think themselves a hitch or two 
 higher than Shampuashuh folks?" 
 
 "Perhaps," said Lois; " but I do not know, so I 
 sannot say." 
 
 "0 Lois," cried Madge, "are the people very 
 nice ? " 
 
 "Some of them." 
 
 " You haven't lost your heart, have you ? " 
 
 "Only part of it.' 
 
 " Part of it !. 0, to whom, Lois ? Who is it ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart's black horses." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " exclaimed Charity. "Haven't Shamp- 
 uashuh folks got horses ? Don't tell me ! " 
 
 " But Lois ! " pursued Madge, " who was the 
 nicest person you saw ? " 
 
 " Madge, I don't know. A good many seemed 
 to be nice." 
 
 "Well who was the handsomest? and who was 
 the cleverest? and who was the kindest to you? I 
 don't mean Mrs. Wishart. Now answer." 
 
 "The handsomest, and the cleverest, and the
 
 112 NOBODY. 
 
 kindest to me ? " Lois repeated slowly. " Well, let 
 me see. Ths handsomest was a Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 "Who's he?" 
 
 " Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 " What is he, then ? " 
 
 " He is a gentleman, very much thought of; 
 rich, and knows everybody; that's about all I can 
 tell." 
 
 " Was he the cleverest, too, that you saw ? " 
 
 " No, I think not." 
 
 "Who was that?" 
 
 " Another gentleman ; a Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 " Dillun 1 " Madge repeated. 
 
 "That is the pronunciation of the name. It 
 is spelt D, i, 1, 1, w, y, n Dilwin ; but it is called 
 Dillun." 
 
 "And who was kindest to you? Go on, Lois." 
 
 "0 everybody was kind to me," Lois said eva- 
 sively. " Kind enough. 1 did not need kindness." 
 
 " Whom did you like best, then ? " ( 
 
 " Of those two ? They are both men of the 
 world, and nothing to me; but of the two, I think 
 I like the first best." 
 
 " Caruthers. I shall remember," said Madge. 
 
 " That is foolish talk, children," remarked Mrs. 
 Armadale. 
 
 " Yes, but grandma, you know children are 
 bound to be foolish sometimes," returned Madge. 
 
 " And then the rod of correction must drive it 
 far from them," said the old lady. "That's the 
 common way; but it aint the easiest way. Lois
 
 THE FAMILY. 113 
 
 said true; these people are nothing and can be 
 nothing to her. I wouldn't make believe anything 
 about it, if I was you." 
 
 The conversation changed to other things. And 
 soon took a fresh spring at the entrance of another 
 of the family, an aunt of the girls; who lived in 
 the neighbourhood, and came in to hear the news 
 from New Haven as well as from New York. And 
 then it knew no stop. While the table was clear- 
 ing and while Charity and Madge were doing up 
 the dishes, and when they all sat down round the 
 fire afterwards, there went on a ceaseless, restless, 
 unending flow of questions, answers and comments; 
 going over, I am bound to say, all the ground 
 already travelled during supper. Mrs. Armadale 
 sometimes sighed to herself; but this, if the others 
 heard it, could not check them. 
 
 Mrs. Marx was a lively, clever, kind, good-na- 
 tured woman; with plenty of administrative ability, 
 like so many New England women ; full of re- 
 sources; quick with her head and her hands, and 
 not slow with her tongue; an uneducated woman, 
 and yet one who had made such good use of life 
 schooling that for all practical purposes she had 
 twice the wit of many who have gone through all 
 the drill of the best institutions. A keen eye, a 
 prompt judgment, and a fearless speech, all be- 
 longed to Mrs. Marx; universally esteemed and 
 looked up to and welcomed by all her associates. 
 She was not handsome; she was even strikingly 
 deficient in the lines of beauty; and refinement
 
 114 NOBODY. 
 
 was not one of her characteristics, other than the 
 refinement which comes of kindness and unselfish- 
 ness. Mrs. Marx would be delicately careful of 
 another's feelings, when there was real need; she 
 could shew an exceeding great tenderness and 
 tact then; while in ordinary life her voice was 
 rather loud, her movements were free and angular, 
 and her expressions very unconstrained. Nobody 
 ever saw Mrs. Marx anything but neat, whatever 
 she possibly might be doing; in other respects her 
 costume was often extremely unconventional; but 
 she could dress herself nicely and look quite as 
 becomes a lady. Independent was Mrs. Marx, 
 above all and in everything. 
 
 " I guess she's come back all safe ! " was her 
 comment, made to Mrs. Armadale, at the conclusion 
 of the long talk. Mrs. Armadale made no answer. 
 
 " It's sort o' risky, to let a young thing like 
 that go off by herself among all those high flyers. 
 It's like sendin' a pigeon to sail about with the 
 hawks." 
 
 "Why, aunt Anne," said Lois at this, "whom can 
 you possibly mean by the hawks ? " 
 
 "The sort o' birds that eat up pigeons." 
 
 "I saw nobody that wanted to eat me up, I 
 ussure you." 
 
 " There's the difference between you and a real 
 pigeon. The pigeon knows the hawk when she 
 sees it; you don't." 
 
 " Do you think the hawks all live in cities ? " 
 
 "Xo. I don't," said Mrs. Marx. "They go swoop-
 
 THE FAMILY. 115 
 
 in' about in the country now and then. I shouldn't 
 a bit wonder to see one come sailin' over our heads 
 one of these fine days. But now, you see, grandma 
 has got you under her wing again." Mrs. Marx 
 was Mrs. Armadale's half daughter only, and some- 
 times in company of others called her as her grand- 
 children did. "How does home look to you, Lois? 
 now you're back in it." 
 
 " Very much as it used to look," Lois answered 
 smiling. 
 
 "The taste aint somehow taken out o' things? 
 Ha' you got your old appetite for common doin's ? '' 
 
 " I shall try to-morrow. I am going out into the 
 garden to get some peas in." 
 
 " Mine is in." 
 
 "Not long, aunt Anne? the frost hasn't been 
 long out of the ground." 
 
 " Put 'em in to-day, Lois. And your garden has 
 the sun on it ; so 1 shouldn't wonder if you beat me 
 after all. Well, I must go along and look arter my 
 old man. He just let me run away now 'cause I 
 told him I was kind o' crazy about the fashions; 
 and he said 'twas a feminine weakness and he pitied 
 me. So I come. Mrs. Dashiell has been a week 
 to New London ; but la ! New London bonnets is no 
 account." 
 
 " You don't get much light from Lois," remarked 
 Charity. 
 
 "No. Did ye learn anything, Lois, while you 
 was away ? " 
 
 " 1 think so, aunt Anne."
 
 116 NOBODY. 
 
 "What, then? Let's hear. Learnin' aint good 
 for much, without you give it out." 
 
 Lois however seemed not inclined to be generous 
 with her stores of new knowledge. 
 
 " I guess she's learned Shampuashuh aint much 
 of a place," the elder sister remarked further. 
 
 44 She's been spellin' her lesson backwards, then. 
 Shampuashuh's a first-rate place." 
 
 " But we've no grand people here. We don't eat 
 off silver dishes, nor drink out o' gold spoons; and 
 our horses can go without little lookin' glasses over 
 their heads," Charity proceeded. 
 
 44 Do you think there's any use in all that, Lois?" 
 said her aunt. 
 
 " I don't know, aunt Anne," Lois answered with 
 a little hesitation. 
 
 "Then I'm sorry for ye, girl, if you are left to 
 think such nonsense. Aint our victuals as good 
 here, as what comes out o' those silver dishes?" 
 
 44 Not always." 
 
 44 Are New York folks better cooks than we 
 be?" 
 
 44 They have servants that know how to do things." 
 
 44 Servants ! Don't tell me o' no servants' doin's ! 
 What can they make that I can't make better?" 
 
 4 ' Can you make a souffle, aunt Anne ? " 
 
 44 What's that?" 
 
 44 Or biscuit glace ? " 
 
 * 4 Biskioee glassy ? " repeated the indignant Shamp- 
 uashuh lady. 4 ' What do you mean, Lois? Speak 
 English, if I am to understand you."
 
 THE FAMILY. 117 
 
 "These things have no English names." 
 
 "Are they any the better for that?" 
 
 " No ; and nothing could make them better. They 
 are as good as it is possible for anything to be; and 
 there are a hundred other things equally good, that 
 we know nothing about here." 
 
 " I'd have watched and found out how they were 
 done," said the elder woman, eyeing Lois with a 
 mingled expression of incredulity and curiosity and 
 desire, which it was comical to see. Only nobody 
 there perceived the comicality. They sympathized 
 too deeply in the feeling. 
 
 " I would have watched," said Lois; "but I could 
 not go down into the kitchen for it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Nobody goes into the kitchen, except to give 
 orders." 
 
 " Nobody goes into the kitchen ! " cried Mrs. Marx, 
 sinking down again into a chair. She had risen to 
 go. 
 
 " I mean, except the servants." 
 
 " It's the shiftlessest thing I ever heard o' New 
 York. And do you think that's a nice way o' livin', 
 Lois?" 
 
 " I am afraid I do, aunt Anne. It is pleasant to 
 have plenty of time for other things." 
 
 " What other things ? " 
 
 " Reading." 
 
 "Reading! La, child! I can read more books 
 in a year than is good for me, and do all my own 
 work, too. I like play, as well as other folks; but
 
 118 NOBODY. 
 
 I like to know my work's done first. Then I can 
 play." 
 
 " Well, there the servants do the work." 
 "And you like that? That ain't a nat'ral way o' 
 liviri', Lois; and I believe it leaves folks too much 
 time to get into mischief. When folks hasn't busi- 
 ness enough of their own to attend to, they're free 
 to put their fingers in other folks' business. And 
 they get sot up, besides. My word for it, it aint 
 healthy, for mind nor body. And you needn't think 
 I'm doin' what I complain of, for your business is 
 my business. Good bye, girls. I'll buy a cook book 
 the next time I go to New .London, and learn how 
 to make suffles. Lois shan't hold that whip over 
 me."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOIS'S GARDEN. 
 
 LOIS went at her gardening the next morning, 
 as good as her word. It was the last of March, 
 and an anticipation of April, according to the fash- 
 ion the months have of sending promissory notes in 
 advance of them ; and this year the spring was early. 
 The sun was up, but not much more, when Lois 
 with her spade and rake and garden line opened 
 the little door in the garden fence and shut it after 
 her. Then she was alone with the spring. The 
 garden was quite a roomy place, and pretty, a little 
 later in the season ; for some old and large apple 
 and cherry trees shadowed parts of it, and broke 
 up the stiff, bare regularity of an ordinary square 
 bit of ground laid out in lesser squares. Such reg 
 ularity was impossible here. In one place two or 
 three great apple trees in a group formed a canopy 
 over a wide circuit of turf. The hoe and the spade 
 must stand back respectfully; there was nothing to 
 be done. One corner was quite given up to the oc- 
 cupancy of an old chei-ry tree, and its spread of 
 grassy ground beneath and about it was again con- 
 
 (119)
 
 120 NOBODY. 
 
 siderable. Still other trees stood here and there; 
 and the stems of none of them were approached by 
 cultivation. In the spaces between Lois stretched 
 her line and drew her furrows, and her rows of peas 
 and patches of corn had even so room enough. 
 
 Grass was hardly green yet, and tree branches 
 were bare, and the upturned earth was unplanted. 
 There was nothing hern yet but the Spring with 
 Lois. It is wonderful what a way Spring has of re- 
 vealing herself, even while she is hid behind the 
 brown and gray wrappings she has borrowed from 
 Winter. Her face is hardly seen ; her form is not 
 discernible ; but there is a breath and a smile and a 
 kiss, that are like nothing her brothers and sisters 
 have to give. Of them all, Spring's smile brings 
 most of hope and expectation with it. And there 
 is a perfume Spring wears, which is the rarest, and 
 most untraceable, and most unmistakeable, of all. 
 The breath and the perfume, and the smile and the 
 kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. 
 She knew them well, of old time, and welcomed 
 them now. She even stood still a bit, to take in 
 the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the ap- 
 ple trees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf 
 was dead and withered; the brown ploughed-up 
 soil had no relief of green growths. Only Spring 
 was there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough ; 
 Spring and Associations. How many hours of pleas- 
 ant labour in that enclosed bit of ground there had 
 been ; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits the 
 rich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 121 
 
 both. And now, here was spring again, and the 
 implanted garden. Lois wanted no more. 
 
 She took her stand under one of the bare old ap- 
 ple trees and surveyed her ground, like a young 
 general. She had it all mapped out and knew just 
 where things were last year. The patch of potatoes 
 was in that corner, and a fine yield they had been. 
 Corn had been here; yes, and here she would run 
 her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It 
 was not very easy work, as you would know if you 
 had ever tried to reduce ground that has been 
 merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smooth 
 evenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois 
 plied spade and rake with an earnest good will and 
 thorough knowledge of her business. Do not im- 
 agine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil 
 and transferring large portions of it to the gardener's 
 ankles; Lois was dressed for her work, in a short 
 stuff frock and leggiiis; and looked as nice when 
 she came out as when she went in, albeit not in 
 any costume ever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central 
 Park. But what do I say ? If she looked " nice " 
 when she went out to her garden, she looked superb 
 when she came in, or when she had been an hour 
 or so delving. Her hat fallen back a little ; her rich 
 masses of hair just a little loosened, enough to shew 
 their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks 
 with the exercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit 
 and zeal ah, the fair ones in Fifth or any other 
 avenue would give a great deal to look so ; but that 
 sort of thing goes with the short frock and leggins,
 
 i22 NOBODY. 
 
 and will not be conjured up by a mantua maker. 
 Lois had after a while a strip of her garden ground 
 nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her line 
 was stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the 
 peas were planted and were covered ; and a little 
 stick at each end marked how far the planted rows 
 extended. 
 
 Lois gathered up her tools then, to go in, but 
 instead of going in she sat down on one of the 
 wooden seats that were fixed under the great apple 
 trees. She was tired and satisfied; and in that 
 mood of mind and body one is easily tempted to 
 musing. Aimlessly, carelessly, thoughts roved and 
 carried her she knew not whither. She began to 
 draw contrasts. Her home life, the sweets of which 
 she was just tasting, set off her life at Mrs. Wish- 
 art's with its strange difference of flavour; hardly 
 the brown earth of her garden was more different 
 from the brilliant coloured Smyrna carpets upon 
 which her feet had moved in some people's houses. 
 Life there and life here, how diverse from one 
 another! Could both be life? Suddenly it oc- 
 curred to Lois that her garden fence shut in a very 
 small world, and a world in which there was no 
 room for many things that had seemed to her de- 
 lightful and desirable in these weeks that were 
 just passed. Life must be narrow within these 
 borders. She had had several times in New York 
 a sort of perception of this, and here it grew defined. 
 Knowledge, education, the intercourse of polished 
 society, the smooth ease and refinement of well-
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 123 
 
 ordered households, and the habits of affluence, and 
 the gratification of cultivated tastes; more yet, the 
 having cultivated tastes; the gratification of them 
 seemed to Lois a less matter. A large horizon, a 
 wide experience of men and things ; was it not bet- 
 ter, did it not make life richer, did it not elevate 
 the human creature to something of more power 
 and worth, than a very narrow and confined sphere 
 with its consequent narrow and confined way of 
 looking at things ? Lois was just tired enough to 
 let all these thoughts pass over her, like gentle 
 waves of an incoming tide, and they were empha- 
 sized here and there by a vision of a brown curly 
 head and a kindly, handsome, human face looking 
 into hers. It was a vision that came and went, 
 floated in and disappeared among the waves of 
 thought that rose and fell. Was it not better to 
 sit and talk even with Mr. Dillwyn, than to dig and 
 plant peas? Was not the Lois who did that, a quite 
 superior creature to the Lois who did this ? Any 
 common, coarse man could plant peas, and do it as 
 well as she; was this to be her work, this and the 
 like, for the rest of her life ? Just the labour for 
 material existence, instead of the refining and form- 
 ing and up-building of the nobler inner nature, 
 the elevation of existence itself? My little garden 
 ground! thought Lois; is this indeed all? And 
 what would Mr. Caruthers think, if he could see me 
 now ? Think he had been cheated, and that I am 
 not what he thought I was. It is no matter what 
 he thinks; I shall never see him again; it will not
 
 124 NOBODY. 
 
 be best that I should ever pay Mrs. Wishart a visit 
 again, even if she should ask me; not in New York. 
 I suppose the Isles of Shoals would be safe enough. 
 There would be nobody there. Well I like gar- 
 dening. And it is great fun to gather the peas 
 when they are large enough; and it is fun to pick 
 strawberries ; and it is fun to do everything, gener- 
 ally. I like it all. But, if I could, if I had a chance, 
 which I cannot have, I would like, and enjoy, the 
 other sort of thing too. I could be a good deal 
 more than I am, if I had the opportunity. 
 
 Lois was getting rested by this time, and she 
 gathered up her tools again, with the thought that 
 breakfast would taste good. I suppose a whiff of 
 the fumes of coffee preparing in the house was 
 borne out to her upon the air and suggested the 
 idea. And as she went in she cheerfully reflected 
 that their plain house was full of comfort, if not of 
 beauty; and that she and her sisters were doing 
 what was given them to do, and therefore what 
 they were meant to do ; and then came the thought, 
 so sweet to the servant who loves his Master, that 
 it is all for the Master; arid that if He is pleased, 
 all is gained, the utmost, that life can do or desire. 
 And Lois went in, trilling low a sweet Methodist 
 hymn, to an air both plaintive and joyous, which 
 somehow as many of the old Methodist tunes do 
 expressed the plaintiveness and the joyousnesa 
 together with a kind of triumphant effect. 
 
 " O tell me no more of this world's vain store 1 
 The time for such trifles with me now is o'er.'
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 125 
 
 Lois had a voice exceedingly sweet and rich; an 
 uncommon contralto; and when she sang one of 
 these hymns it came with its full power. Mrs. 
 Armadale heard her, and murmured a " Praise the 
 Lord ! " And Charity, getting the breakfast, heard 
 her; and made a different comment. 
 
 " Were you meaning, now, what you were sing- 
 ing when you came in ? " she asked at break- 
 fast. 
 
 " What I was singing ? " Lois repeated in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Yes, what you were singing. You sang it loud 
 enough and plain enough; ha' you forgotten? Did 
 you mean it?" 
 
 " One should always mean what one sings," said 
 Lois gravely. 
 
 "So I think; and I want to know, did you mean 
 that ? ' The time for such trifles ' is it over with 
 you, sure enough ? " 
 
 "What trifles?" 
 
 " You know best. What did you mean ? It be- 
 gins about ' this world's vain store ; ' ha' you done 
 with the world?" 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 "Then I wouldn't say so." 
 
 " But I didn't say so," Lois returned, laughing 
 now. "The hymn means, that 'this world's vain 
 store ' is not my treasure ; and it isn't. ' The time 
 for such trifles with me now is o'er.' I have 
 found something better. As Paul says, 'When 
 I became a man, I put away childish things.' So,
 
 126 NOBODY. 
 
 since I have learned to know something else, 
 the world's store has lost its great value for 
 me." 
 
 " Thank the Lord ! " said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Char- 
 ity retorted. "I don't believe it one bit, all such 
 talk. It aint nature, nor reasonable. Folks say 
 that just when somethin's gone the wrong way, 
 and they want to comfort themselves with makin' 
 believe they don't care about it. Wait till the 
 chance comes, and see if they don't care ! That's 
 what I say." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," 
 remarked the old grandmother. 
 
 " Everybody has a right to his views," returned 
 Miss Charity. " That's what I always say." 
 
 " You must leave her her views, grandma," said 
 Lois pleasantly. " She will have to change them, 
 some day." 
 
 " What will make me change them ? " 
 
 "Coming to know the truth." 
 
 "You think nobody but you knows the truth. 
 Now Lois, I'll ask you. Aint you sorry to be back 
 and out of 'this world's vain store' out of all 
 the magnificence and back in your garden work 
 again ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin 1 that 
 outlandish rig you put on for the garden ? " 
 
 " I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The 
 dress I admire no more than you do."
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 127 
 
 "And you've got everythin' you want in the 
 world?" 
 
 " Charity, Charity, that aint fair," Madge put in. 
 "Nobody has that; you haven't, and I haven't; 
 why should Lois ? " 
 
 " Cos she says she's found ' a city where true 
 joys abound'; now let's hear if she has." 
 
 " Quite true," said Lois smiling. 
 
 " And you've got all you want ? " 
 
 "No, I would like a good many things I haven t 
 got, if it's the Lord's pleasure to give them." 
 
 " Suppose it aint ? " 
 
 "Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking 
 up with so clear and bright a face that her carping 
 sister was for the moment silenced. And I sup- 
 pose Charity watched; but she never could find 
 reason to think that Lois had not spoken the truth. 
 Lois was the life of the house. Madge was a hand- 
 some and quiet girl; could follow but rarely led in 
 the conversation. Charity talked, but was hardly 
 enlivening to the spirits of the company. Mrs. 
 Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman ; could 
 talk indeed, and well, and much; however these 
 occasions were mostly when she had one auditor 
 and was in thorough sympathy with that one. 
 Amidst these different elements of the household 
 life Lois played the part of the flux in a furnace; 
 she was the happy accommodating medium through 
 which all the others came into best play and found 
 their full relations to one another. Lois's bright- 
 ness and spirit were never dulled; her sympathies
 
 128 NOBODY. 
 
 were never wearied; her intelligence was never at 
 fault. And her work was never neglected. No- 
 body had ever to remind Lois that it was time for 
 her to attend to this or that thing which it was 
 her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very 
 often ready to help somebody else not quite so 
 "forehanded." The garden took on fast its dressed 
 and ordered look; the strawberries were uncov 
 ered and the raspberries tied up and the currant 
 bushes trimmed; and pea sticks and bean poles 
 bristled here and there promisingly. And then 
 the green growths for which Lois had -worked 
 began to reward her labour. Radishes were on the 
 tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another 
 thing"; and rows of spi'inging beets and carrots 
 looked like plenty in the future. Potatoes were 
 up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and 
 corn began to appear. One thing after another, 
 till Lois got the garden all planted; and then she 
 was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, 
 we all know, do thrive as unaccountably in the 
 natural as in the spiritual world. It cost Lois 
 hard work to keep them under; but she did it. 
 Nothing would have tempted her to bear the 
 reproach of them among her vegetables and fruits. 
 And so the latter had a good chance, and throve. 
 There was not much time or much space for 
 flowers; yet Lois had a few. Red poppies found 
 growing room between the currant bushes; here 
 and there at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand 
 and rear its stately head. Rose bushes were set 
 
 \
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 129 
 
 wherever a rose bush could be; and there were 
 some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, 
 and marigolds. Not many; however they served 
 to refresh Lois's soul when she went to pick vege- 
 tables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for 
 the table in the hall, or in the sitting room, 
 when the hot weather drove the family out of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Before that came June and strawberries. Lois 
 picked the fruit always. She had been a good 
 while one very warm afternoon bending down 
 among the strawberry beds, and had brought in 
 a great bowl full of fruit. She and Madge came 
 together to their room to wash hands and get in 
 order for tea. 
 
 " I have worked over all that butter," said 
 Madge, "and skimmed a lot of milk. I must churn 
 again to-morrow. There is no end to work ! " 
 
 "No end to it," Lois assented. "Did you see 
 my strawberries ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "They are splendid. Those Black Princes are 
 doing finely, too. If we have rain they will be 
 superb." 
 
 " How many did you get to-day ? " 
 
 "Two quarts, and more." 
 
 "And cherries to preserve to-morrow. Lois, J 
 get tired once in a while ! " 
 
 " so do I ; but I always get rested again." 
 
 " I don't mean that. I mean, it is all work, 
 work; day in and day out, and from one year's
 
 130 NOBODY. 
 
 end to another. There is no let up to it. I get 
 tired of that." 
 
 " What would you have ? " 
 
 "I'd like a little play." 
 
 "Yes, but in a certain sense I think it is all 
 play." 
 
 " In a nonsensical sense," said Madge. " How 
 can work be play ? " 
 
 " That's according to how you look at it, ' Lois 
 returned cheerfully. " If you take it as I think you 
 can take it, it is much better than play." 
 
 " I wish you'd make me understand you," said 
 Madge discontentedly. " If there is any meaning 
 to your words, that is." 
 
 Lois hesitated. 
 
 " I like work anyhow better than play," she said. 
 "But then, if you look at it in a certain way, it 
 becomes much better than play. Don't you know, 
 Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by 
 the Lord to do; to do for him; and I do it so; 
 and that makes every bit of it all pleasant." 
 
 " But you can't ! " said Madge pettishly. She 
 was not a pettish person, only just now something 
 in her sister's words had the effect of irritation. 
 
 "Can't what?" 
 
 "Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, 
 for instance; or cherry sweetmeats. Ridiculous! 
 And nonsense." 
 
 " I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I 
 do my garden work and my sewing." 
 
 "What do you mean, Lois! The garden work is
 
 Lois's GARDEN. 131 
 
 for our eating, and the sewing is for your own back, 
 or grandma's. I understand religion, but I don't 
 understand cant." 
 
 "Madge, it's not cant; it's the plain truth." 
 
 "Only that it is impossible." 
 
 "No. You do not understand religion, or you 
 would know how it is. All these things are things 
 given us to do; we must make the clothes and pre- 
 serve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, 
 and then pick strawberries, and all the rest. God 
 has given me these things to do, and I do them for 
 him." 
 
 " You do them for yourself, or for grandma, and 
 for the rest of us." 
 
 " Yes, but first for Him. Yes, Madge, I do. I do 
 every bit of all these things in the way that I think 
 will please and honour him best as far as I know 
 how." 
 
 " Making your dresses ! " 
 
 " Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may 
 look, as near as I can, as a servant of Christ in my 
 place ought to look. And taking things in that way, 
 Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor 
 how all sorts of little worries fall off. I wish you 
 knew, Madge ! If I am hot and tired in a straw- 
 berry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant I 
 am, and that he has made the sun shine and put 
 me to work in it, then it's all right in a minute, 
 and I don't mind any longer." 
 
 Madge looked at her, with eyes that were half 
 scornful, half admiring.
 
 132 NOBODY. 
 
 " There is just one thing that does tempt me, 
 Lois went on, her eye going forth to the world out- 
 side the window, or to a world more distant and in- 
 tangible, that she looked at without seeing, " I do 
 sometimes wish I had time to read and learn." 
 
 " Learn ! " Madge echoed. " What ? " 
 
 " Loads of things. I never thought about it much, 
 till I went to New York last winter; then, seeing 1 
 people and talking to people that were different, 
 made me feel how ignorant I was, and what a 
 pleasant thing it would be to have knowledge ed- 
 ucation yes, and accomplishments. I have the 
 temptation to wish for that sometimes ; but I know 
 it is a temptation ; for if I was intended to have all 
 those things, the way would have been opened, and 
 it is not, and never was. Just a breath of longing 
 comes over me now and then for that; not for play, 
 but to make more of myself; and then I remember 
 that I am exactly where the Lord wants me to be, 
 and as he chooses for me, and then I am quite con- 
 tent again." 
 
 " You never said so before," the other sister an- 
 swered, now sympathizingly. 
 
 "No," said Lois smiling; "why should I? Only 
 just now I thought I would confess." 
 
 " Lois, I have wished for that very thing ! " 
 
 "Well, maybe it is good to have the wish. If 
 ever a chance comes, we shall know we are meant 
 to use it; and we won't be slow!"
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 
 
 ALL things in the world, so far as the dwellers in 
 Shampuashuh knew, went their usual course 
 in peace for the next few months. Lois gathered 
 her strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. 
 Peas ripened, and green corn was on the board, and 
 potatoes blossomed, and young beets were pulled, 
 and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle 
 life the little family lived; every day exceedingly 
 like the day before, and yet every day with some- 
 thing new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt; 
 a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, 
 or a new pattern for a dress, or a new receipt for 
 cake. Or they walked down to the shore and dug 
 clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent 
 them a new book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an ex- 
 traordinary sermon. It was a very slight ebb and 
 flow of the tide of time ; however, it served to keep 
 everything from stagnation. Then suddenly, at the 
 end of July, came Mrs. Wishart's summons to Lois 
 to join her on her way to the Isles of Shoals. " I 
 
 shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I 
 
 (133)
 
 134 NOBODY. 
 
 want you to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; 
 for I shall go that way to Boston. I cannot stop, 
 but I will have your place taken and all ready for 
 you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do with- 
 out you ; and when other people need you, you know, 
 you never hesitate. Do not hesitate now." 
 
 There wtis a good deal of hesitation, however, on 
 one part and another, before the question was 
 settled. 
 
 " Lois has just got home," said Charity. " I don't 
 see what she should be'going again for. I should 
 like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she aint wanted 
 at home ! " 
 
 " People don't think about it," said Madge; " only 
 what they want themselves. But it is a fine chance 
 for Lois." 
 
 " Why don't she ask you ? " said Charity. 
 
 " She thought Madge would enjoy a visit to her 
 in New York more," said Lois. " So she said to me." 
 
 " And so I would," cried Madge. " I don't care 
 for a parcel of little islands out at sea. But that 
 would just suit Lois. What sort of a place is the 
 Isles of Shoals anyhow?" 
 
 "Just that," said Lois; "so far as I know. A 
 parcel of little islands, out in the sea." 
 
 " Where at ? " said Charity. 
 
 " I don't know exactly." 
 
 " Get the map and look." 
 
 "They are too small to be down on the map." 
 
 " What is Ellen Wishart wan tin' to go there for? 
 asked Mrs. Armadale.
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 135 
 
 "O she goes somewhere every year, grandma; 
 to one place and another; and I suppose she likes 
 novelty." 
 
 "That's a poor way to live," said the old lady. 
 '' But I suppose, bein' such a place, it'll be sort o' 
 lonesome, and she wants you for company. May- 
 be she goes for her health." 
 
 " I think quite a good many people go there, 
 grandma." 
 
 " There can't, if they're little islands out at sea, 
 Most folks wouldn't like that. Do you want to go, 
 Lois?" 
 
 " I would like it, very much. I just want to see 
 what they are like grandmother. I never did see 
 the sea yet." 
 
 " You saw it yesterday, when we went for clams," 
 Raid Charity scornfully. 
 
 "That? no. That's not the sea, Charity." 
 
 " Well it's mighty near it." 
 
 It seemed to be agreed at last that Lois should 
 accept her cousin's invitation; and she made her 
 preparations. She made them with great delight. 
 Pleasant as the home life was, it was quite favour- 
 able to the growth of an appetite for change and 
 variety; and the appetite in Lois was healthy and 
 strong. The sea and the islands, and on the other 
 hand an intermission of gardening and fruit pick- 
 ing; Shampuashuh people lost sight of for a time, 
 and new, new, strange forms of humanity and ways 
 of human life; the prospect was happy. And a 
 happy girl was Lois, when one evening in the early
 
 136 NOBODY. 
 
 part of August she joined Mrs. Wishart in the night 
 train to Boston. That lady met her at the door of 
 the drawing room car and led her to the little com- 
 partment where they were screened off from the 
 rest of the world. 
 
 " I am so glad to have you ! " was her salutation. 
 " Dear me, how well you look, child ! What have 
 you been doing to yourself?" 
 
 " Getting brown in the sun, picking berries." 
 
 " You are not brown a bit. You are as fair as 
 what ever shall I compare you to? Roses are 
 common." 
 
 "Nothing better than roses, though," said Lois. 
 
 "Well, a rose you must be; but of the freshest 
 and sweetest. We don't have such roses in New 
 York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything so 
 fresh there. I wonder why ? " 
 
 " People don't live out of doors picking berries," 
 suggested Lois. 
 
 " What has berry picking to do with it ? My 
 dear, it is a pity we shall have none of your old ad- 
 mirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannot promise 
 you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caru- 
 thers are going to Saratoga; they staid in town 
 after the mother and son got back from Florida. 
 The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn 
 by the way, was he one of your admirers, Ix>is ? " 
 
 "Certainly not," said Lois laughing. "But I 
 have a pleasant remembrance of him, he gave us 
 such a good lunch one day. I am very glad I am not 
 going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 137 
 
 are the Isles of Shoals? and what are they, that 
 you should go to see them ? " 
 
 " I'm not going to see them there's nothing to 
 see, unless you like sea and rocks. I am going for 
 the air, and because I must go somewhere, and I 
 am tired of everywhere else. they're out in the 
 Atlantic sea all round them queer, barren places. 
 I am so glad I've got you, Lois ! I don't know a 
 soul that's to be there can't guess what we shall 
 find; but I've got you, and I can get along." 
 
 " Do people go there just for health ? " 
 
 "0 a few, perhaps; but the thing is what I am 
 after novelty; they are hardly the fashion yet." 
 
 "That is the very oddest reason for doing or not 
 doing things!" said Lois. "Because it's the fash- 
 ion ! As if that made it pleasant, or useful." 
 
 " It does ! " said Mrs. Wishart. " Of course it 
 does. Pleasant, yes, and useful too. My dear, you 
 don't want to be out of the fashion ? " 
 
 "Why not, if the fashion does not agree with me?" 
 
 " my dear, you will learn. Not to agree with 
 the fashion, is to be out with the world." 
 
 " With one part of it," said Lois merrily. 
 
 "Just the part that is of importance. Never 
 mind, you will learn. Lois, I am so sleepy, I can- 
 not keep up any longer. I must curl down and 
 take a nap. I just kept myself awake till we reached 
 Shampuashuh. You had better do as I do. My 
 dear, I am very sorry, but I can't help it." 
 
 So Mrs. Wishart settled herself upon a heap of 
 bags and wraps, took off her bonnet and went to
 
 138 NOBODY. 
 
 sleep. Lois did not feel in the least like following 
 her example. She was wide awake with excite- 
 ment and expectation, and needed no help of enter- 
 tainment from anybody. With her thoroughly 
 sound mind and body and healthy appetites, every 
 detail and every foot of the journey was a pleasure 
 to her; even the corner of a drawing room car on 
 a night train. It was such change and variety ! 
 and Lois had spent all her life nearly in one narrow 
 sphere and the self-same daily course of life and ex- 
 perience. New York had been one great break in 
 this uniformity, and now came another. Islands 
 in the sea! Lois tried to fancy what they would 
 be like. So much resorted to already, they must 
 be very charming; and green meadows, shadowing 
 trees, soft shores and cosy nooks rose up before her 
 imagination. Mr. Caruthers and his family were 
 at Saratoga, that was well; but there would be 
 other people, different from the Shampuashuh type; 
 and Lois delighted in seeing new varieties of hu- 
 mankind as well as new portions of the earth where 
 they live. She sat wide awake opposite to her 
 sleeping hostess, and made an entertainment for 
 herself out of the place and the night journey. It 
 was a star-lit, sultry night; the world outside the 
 hurrying train covered with a wonderful misty veil, 
 under which it lay half revealed by the heavenly 
 illumination: soft, mysterious, vast; a breath now 
 and then whispering of nature's luxuriant abundance 
 and sweetness that lay all around, out there under 
 the stars, for miles and hundreds of miles. Lois
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 139 
 
 looked and peered out sometimes, so happy that it 
 was not Shampuashuh, and that she was away, and 
 that she would see the sun shine on new landscapes 
 when the morning came round; and sometimes she 
 looked within the car, and marvelled at the differ- 
 ent signs and tokens of human life and character 
 that met her there. And every yard of the way 
 was a delight to her. 
 
 Meanwhile, how weirdly and strangely do the 
 threads of human life cross and twine and untwine 
 in this world ! 
 
 That same evening, in New York, in the Caru- 
 thers mansion on Twenty-Third Street, the drawing 
 room windows were open to let in the refresh- 
 ing breeze from the sea. The light lace curtains 
 swayed to and fro as the wind came and went, but 
 were not drawn ; for Mrs. Caruthers liked, she said, 
 to have so much of a screen between her and the 
 passers-by. For that matter, the windows were 
 high enough above the street to prevent all danger 
 of any one's looking in. The lights were burning 
 low in the rooms, on account of the heat; and 
 within, in attitudes of exhaustion and helplessness 
 sat mother and daughter in their several easy 
 chairs. Tom was on his back on the floor, which 
 being nicely matted was not the worst place. A 
 welcome break to the monotony of the evening 
 was the entrance of Philip Dillwyn. Tom got up 
 from the floor to welcome him, and went back 
 then to his former position. 
 
 " How come you to be here at this time of year ? "
 
 140 NOBODY. 
 
 Dillwyn asked. "It was mere accident, my find- 
 ing you. Should never have thought of looking 
 for you. But by chance passing, I saw that win- 
 dows were open arid lights visible, so I concluded 
 that something else might be visible if I came in." 
 
 " We are only just passing through," Julia ex- 
 plained. "Going to Saratoga to-morrow. We have 
 only just come from Newport." 
 
 "What drove you away from Newport? this is 
 the time to be by the sea." 
 
 " who cares for the sea ! or anything else ? it's 
 the people; and the people at Newport didn't suit 
 mother. The Benthams were there, and that set; 
 and mother don't like the Benthams; and Miss 
 Zagumski, the daughter of the Russian minister, 
 was there, and all the world was crazy about her. 
 Nothing was to be seen or heard but Miss Zagum- 
 ski, and her dancing, and her playing, and her 
 singing. Mother got tired of it." 
 
 " And yet Newport is a large place," remarked 
 Philip. 
 
 " Too large," Mrs. Caruthers answered. 
 
 " What do you expect to find at Saratoga ? " 
 
 " Heat," said Mrs. Caruthers ; "and another crowd." 
 
 "I think you will not be disappointed, if this 
 weather holds." 
 
 " It is a great deal more comfortable here ! " 
 sighed the elder lady. " Saratoga's a dreadfully hoi 
 place ! Home is a great deal more comfortable." 
 
 "Then why not stay at home ? Comfort is what 
 you are after."
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 141 
 
 " but one can't ! Everybody goes somewhere ; 
 and one must do as everybody does." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Philip, what makes you ask such a question ? " 
 
 " I assure you, a very honest ignorance of the 
 answer to it." 
 
 " Why one must do as everybody does ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The lady's tone and accent had implied that the 
 answer was self-evident; yet it was not given. 
 
 " Really," Philip went on.- " What should hin- 
 der you from staying in this pleasant house part 
 of the summer, or all of the summer, if you find 
 yourselves more comfortable here ? " 
 
 "Being comfortable isn't the only thing," said 
 Julia. 
 
 "No. What other consideration governs the 
 decision ? that is what I am asking." 
 
 "Why Philip, there is nobody in town." 
 
 "That is better than company you do not like." 
 
 " I wish it was the fashion to stay in town," said 
 Mrs. Caruthers. "There is everything here, in 
 one's own house, to make the heat endurable, and 
 just what we miss when we go to a hotel. Large 
 rooms, and cool nights, and clean servants, and 
 gas, and baths Hotel rooms are so stuffy." 
 
 "After all, one does not live in one's rooms," 
 said Julia. 
 
 "But," said Philip, returning to the charge, 
 "why should not you, Mrs. Caruthers, do what 
 you like? Why should you be displeased in Sara-
 
 142 NOBODY. 
 
 toga, or anywhere, merely because other people 
 are pleased there ? Why not do as you like ? " 
 
 "You know one can't do as one likes in this 
 world," Julia returned. 
 
 " Why not, if one can, as you can ? " said Philip 
 laughing 
 
 "But that's ridiculous," said Julia, raising her- 
 self up with a little show of energy. " You know 
 perfectly well, Mr. Dillwyu, that people belonging 
 to- the world must do as the rest of the world do. 
 Nobody is in town. If we staid here, people would 
 get up some unspeakable story to account for our 
 doing it; that would be the next thing." 
 
 "Dillwyn, where are you going?" said Tom 
 suddenly from the floor, where he had been more 
 uneasy than his situation accounted for. 
 
 " I don't know perhaps I'll take your train and 
 go to Saratoga too. Not for fear, though." 
 
 " That's capital ! " said Tom, half raising him- 
 self up and leaning on his elbow. " I'll turn the 
 care of my family over to you, and I'll seek the 
 wilderness." 
 
 " What wilderness ? " asked his sister sharply. 
 
 " Some wilderness some place where I shall not 
 see crinoline nor be expected to do the polite 
 thing. I'll go for the sea, I guess." 
 
 " What have you in your head, Tom ? " 
 
 " Refreshment." 
 
 "You've just come from the sea." 
 
 " I've just come from the sea where it was 
 fashionable. Now I'll find some place where it is
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 143 
 
 unfashionable. I don't favour Saratoga any more 
 than you do. It's a jolly stupid; that's what it 
 is." 
 
 " But where do you want to go, Torn ? you have 
 some place in your 1: ead." 
 
 "I'd as lief go off for the Isles of Shoals ae 
 anywhere," said Tom lying down again. "They 
 haven't got fashionable yet. I've a notion to see 
 em first." 
 
 " I doubt about that," remarked Philip gravely. 
 " I am not sure but the Isles of Shoals are about 
 the most distinguished place you could go to." 
 
 " Isles of Shoals. Where are they ? and what 
 are they ? " Julia asked. 
 
 " A few little piles of rock out in the Atlantic, 
 on which it spends its wrath all the year round ; 
 but of course the ocean is not always raging; and 
 when it is not raging, it smiles; and they say the 
 smile is no where more bewitching than at the 
 Isles of Shoals," Philip answered. 
 
 " But will nobody be there ? " 
 
 " Nobody you would care about," returned Tom. 
 
 "Then what'll you do ? " 
 
 "Fish." 
 
 " Tom ! you're not a fisher. You needn't pre- 
 tend it." 
 
 " Sun myself on the rocks." 
 
 " You are brown enough already." 
 
 "They say, everything gets bleached there.' 
 
 "Then I should like to go. But I couldn't stand 
 the sea and solitude, and I don't believe you
 
 144 NOBODY. 
 
 can stand it. Tom, this is ridiculous. You're not 
 serious ? " 
 
 "Not often," said Torn; "but this time I am. I 
 am going to the Isles of Shoals. If Philip will 
 take you to Saratoga, I'll start to-morrow ; other- 
 wise I will wait till I get you rooms and see you 
 settled." 
 
 " Is there a hotel there ? " 
 
 " Something that does duty for one, as I under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Tom, this is too ridiculous, and vexatious," re- 
 monstrated his sister. " We want you at Saratoga." 
 
 "Well, it is flattering; but you wanted me at 
 St. Augustine a little while ago, and you had me. 
 You can't always have a fellow. I'm going to see 
 the Isles of Shoals before they're the rage. I want 
 to get cooled off, for once, after Florida and New- 
 port, besides." 
 
 " Isn't that the place where Mrs. Wishart is 
 gone," said Philip now. 
 
 " I don't know yes, I believe so." 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart !" exclaimed Julia in a different 
 tone. " She gone to the Isles of Shoals ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart ! " Mrs. Caruthers'echoed. " Has 
 she got that girl with her ? " 
 
 Silence. Then Philip remarked with a laugh that 
 Tom's plan of "cooling off" seemed problematical. 
 
 " Tom," said his sister solemnly, " is Miss Lothrop 
 going to be there ? " 
 
 "Don't know, upon my word," said Tom. "I 
 haven't heard."
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 145 
 
 "She is, and that's what you're going for. C 
 Tom, Torn ! " cried his sister despairingly. " Mr. 
 DilJwyn, what shall we do with him ? " 
 
 " Can't easily manage a fellow of his size, Miss 
 .Tulia. Let him take his chance." 
 
 " Take his chance ! Such a chance ! " 
 
 "Yes, Philip," said Tom's mother; "you ought 
 to stand by us." 
 
 "With all my heart, dear Mrs. Caruthers; but 1 
 am afraid I should be a weak support. Keally, 
 don't you think Tom might do worse ? " 
 
 "Worse?" said the elder lady; "what could be 
 worse than for him to bring such a wife into the 
 house ? " 
 
 Tom gave an inarticulate kind of snort just here, 
 which was not lacking in expression. Philip went 
 on calmly. 
 
 " Such a wife " he repeated. " Mrs. Caruthers, 
 here is room for discussion. Suppose we settle, for 
 example, what Tom, or anybody situated like Tom, 
 ought to look for and insist upon finding, in a wife. 
 I wish you and Miss Julia would make out the 
 list of qualifications." 
 
 " Stuff! " muttered Tom. " It would be hard lines, 
 if a fellow must have a wife of his family's choosing! " 
 
 " His family can talk about it," said Philip, "and 
 certainly will. Hold your tongue, Tom. I want 
 to hear your mother." 
 
 " Why Mr. Dillwyn," said the lady, " you know 
 as well as t do; and you think just as I do about 
 it, and about this Miss Lothrop."
 
 146 NOBODY. 
 
 "Perhaps; but let us reason the matter out. 
 Maybe it will do Tom good. What ought he to 
 have in a wife, Mrs. Caruthers ? and we'll try to 
 shew him he is looking in the wrong quarter." 
 
 " I'm not looking anywhere ! " growled Tom ; 
 but no one believed him. 
 
 " Well Philip," Mrs. Caruthers began, " he ought 
 to marry a girl of good family." 
 
 " Certainly. By ' good family ' you mean ? " 
 
 " Everybody knows what I mean." 
 
 " Possibly Tom does not." 
 
 " I mean, a girl that one knows about, and that 
 everybody knows about; that has good blood in 
 her veins." 
 
 " The blood of respectable and respected ances- 
 tors," Philip said. 
 
 " Yes ! that is what I mean. I mean, that have 
 been respectable and respected for a long time 
 back for years and years." 
 
 "You believe in inheritance," 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Mrs. Caruthers 
 " I believe in family." 
 
 " Well, /believe in inheritance. But what proof 
 is there that the young lady of whom we were 
 speaking has no family ? " 
 
 Julia raised herself up from her reclining posi- 
 tion, and Mrs. Caruthers sat suddenly forward in 
 her chair. 
 
 " Why she is nobody ! " cried the first. " No- 
 body kncws her, nor anything about her." 
 
 "Ewe " said Philip
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 147 
 
 " Here ! Of course. Where else ? " 
 
 " Yes, just listen to that ! " Tom broke in. " I low 
 should anybody know her here, where she has never 
 lived ! But that's the way " 
 
 " I suppose a Sandwich Islander's family is known 
 in the Sandwich Islands," said Mrs. Caruthers. " But 
 what good is that to us ? " 
 
 " Then you mean, the family must be a New York 
 family ? " 
 
 "N o," said Mrs. Caruthers hesitatingly; "I 
 don't mean that exactly. There are good South- 
 ern families " 
 
 "And good Eastern families ! " put in Tom. 
 
 "But nobody knows anything about this girl's 
 family," said the ladies both in a breath. 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart does," said Philip. "She has 
 even told me. The family dates back to the begin- 
 ning of the colony, and boasts of extreme respec- 
 tability. I forget how many judges and ministers it 
 can count up ; and at least one governor of the col- 
 ony ; and there is no spot or stain upon it anywhere.'' 
 
 There was silence. 
 
 " Go on, Mrs. Caruthers. What else should Tom 
 look for in a wife ? " 
 
 " It is not merely what a family has been, 
 but what its associations have been," said Mrs. 
 Caruthers. 
 
 "These have evidently been respectable." 
 
 " But it is not that only, Philip. We want the 
 associations of good society; and we want position. 
 I want Tom to marry a woman of good position.'
 
 148 NOBODY. 
 
 " Hm . " said Philip. " This lady has not been 
 accustomed to anything that you would call ' so- 
 ciety'; and 'position' But your son has position 
 enough, Mrs. Caruthers. He can stand without 
 much help." 
 
 "Now Philip, don't you go to encourage Tom in 
 this mad fancy. It's just a fancy. The girl has 
 nothing; and Tom's wife ought to be I shall 
 break my heart if Tom's wife is not of good family 
 and position, and good manners, and good educa- 
 tion. That's the least I can ask for." 
 
 "She has as good manners as anybody you 
 know ! " said Tom flaring up. " As good as Julia's 
 and better." 
 
 " I should say, she has no manner whatever, ' 
 remarked Miss Julia quietly. 
 
 " What is ' manner ' ? " said Tom indignantly. 
 "I hate it. Manner! They all have 'manner' 
 except the girls who make believe they have none ; 
 and their ' manner' is to want manner. Stuff! " 
 
 " But the girl knows nothing," persisted Mrs. 
 Caruthers. 
 
 " She knows absolutely nothing" Julia confirmed 
 this statement. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 " She speaks correct English," said Dillwyn. 
 "That at least." 
 
 " English ! but not a word of French or of any 
 other language. And she has no particular use 
 for the one language she does know; she cannot 
 talk about anything. How do vou know she
 
 SUMMER MOVEMENTS. 149 
 
 speaks good grammar, Mr. Dillwyn ? did you ever 
 talk with her ? " 
 
 "Yes " said Philip, making slow admission. 
 "And I think you are mistaken in your other 
 statement; she can talk on some subjects. Prob- 
 ably you did not hit the right ones." 
 
 " Well, she does not know anything," said Misa 
 Julia. 
 
 "That is bad. Perhaps it might be mended." 
 
 " How ? Nonsense ! I beg your pardon, Mr. 
 Dillwyn; but you cannot make an accomplished 
 woman out of a country girl, if you don't begin 
 before she is twenty. And imagine Tom with such 
 a wife ! and me with such a sister ! " 
 
 " I cannot imagine it. Don't you see, Tom, you 
 must give it up ? " Dillwyn said lightly. 
 
 " I'll go to the Isles of Shoals and think about 
 that," said Tom. Wherewith he got up and went 
 off. 
 
 " Mamma," said Julia then, " he's going to that 
 place to meet that girl. Either she is to be there 
 with Mrs. Wishart, or he is reckoning to see her 
 by the waj r ; and the Isles of Shoals are just a blind. 
 And the only thing left for you and me is to go 
 too, -and be of the party ! " 
 
 "Tom don't want us along " said Tom's mother. 
 
 " Of course he don't want us along; and I am sure 
 we don't want it either; but it is the only thing 
 left for us to do. Don't you see ? She'll be there, 
 or he can stop at her place by the way, going and 
 sorning; maybe Mrs. Wishart is asking her on
 
 150 NOBODY. 
 
 purpose, I shouldn't be at all surprised, and they'll 
 make up the match between them. It would be a 
 thing for the girl, to marry Tom Caruthers ! " 
 
 Mrs. Caruthers groaned, I suppose at the double 
 prospect, before her and before Tom. Philip was 
 silent. Miss Julia went on discussing and arrang- 
 ing ; till her brother returned. 
 
 " Tom," said she cheerfully, " we've been talking 
 over matters; and I'll tell you what we'll do if 
 you won't go with us, we will go with you ! " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Why, to the Isles of Shoals, of course." 
 
 "You and mother ! " said Tom. 
 
 "Yes. There is no fun in going about alone 
 We will go along with you." 
 
 " What on earth will you do at a place like that ? " 
 
 " Keep you from being lonely." 
 
 " Stuff, Julia ! You will wish yourself back be- 
 fore you've been there an hour; and I tell you, 
 I want to go fishing. What would become of 
 mother, landed on a bare rock like that, with no- 
 body to speak to and nothing but crabs to eat ? " 
 
 " Crabs ! " Julia echoed. Philip burst into a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Crabs and muscles," said Tom. " I don't, be- 
 lieve you'll get anything else." 
 
 " But is Mrs. Wishart gone there ? " 
 
 " Philip says so." 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart isn't a fool." 
 
 And Tom was unable to overthrow this argument
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 APPLEDORE. 
 
 IT was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. 
 Wishart and her young companion steamed 
 over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It 
 was Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey 
 from New York had been made by land; and the 
 ocean, however still, was nothing but a most won- 
 derful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she 
 could well nigh attend to nothing, but the move- 
 ments and developments of this vast and mysterious 
 Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and 
 yet half provoked. There was no talk in Lois; 
 nothing to be got out of her; hai'dly any attention 
 to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side 
 and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of 
 submissive admiration; rapt, absorbed, silent, and 
 evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked at 
 her, and envied her. 
 
 " What do you find in the water, Lois ? " 
 " Oh, the wonder of it ! " said the girl with a 
 breath of rapture. 
 
 " Wonder ? what wonder ? I suppose everything
 
 152 NOBOD*. 
 
 is wonderful, if you look at it. What do you see 
 there that seems so very wonderful ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great ! 
 and it is so beautiful ! and it is so awful ! " 
 
 "Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I 
 do not see it. I suppose it is your gain, Lois. 
 Yes it is awful enough in a storm, but not to-day. 
 The sea is quiet." 
 
 Quiet! with those low -rolling, majestic soft 
 billows. The quiet of a lion asleep with his head 
 upon his paws. Lois did not say what she thought, 
 
 "And you have never seen the sea-shore yet," 
 Mrs. Wishart went on. " Well, you will have 
 enough of the sea at the Isles. And those are 
 they, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of 
 Shoals?" she asked a passing man of the crew; 
 and was answered with a rough voiced, "Yaw, 
 mum; they be th' oisles." 
 
 Lois gazed now at those distant brown spots, as the 
 vessel drew nearer and nearer. Brown spots they 
 remained, and to her surprise, small brown spots. 
 Nearer and nearer views only forced the conviction 
 deeper. The Isles seemed to be merely some rough 
 rocky projections from old Ocean's bed, too small 
 to have beauty, too rough to have value. Were 
 those the desired Isles of Shoals ? Lois felt deep 
 disappointment. Little bits of bare rock in the 
 midst of the sea; nothing more. No trees, she was 
 sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. 
 Why would they not be better relegated to Ocean's 
 domain, from which they were only saved bv a
 
 APPLEDORE. 153 
 
 4 
 
 tew feet of upheaval ? why should anybody live 
 there ? and still more, why should anybody make 
 a pleasure visit there ? 
 
 " I suppose the people are all fishermen ? " she 
 said to Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 "I suppose so. there is a house of entertain- 
 ment a sort of hotel." 
 
 " How many people live there ? " 
 
 " My dear, I don't know. A handful, I should 
 think by the look of the place. What tempts 
 them, I don't see." 
 
 Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. 
 All her fairy visions were fled. No meadows, no 
 shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she had 
 ever imagined in connection with country loveliness. 
 Her expectations sank down, collapsed, and van- 
 ished for ever. 
 
 She shewed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. 
 Wishart gather her small baggage together and 
 followed her on shore, with her usual quiet thought- 
 fulness; saw her established in the hotel and as- 
 sisted her to get things a little in order. But then, 
 when the elder lady lay down to "catch a nap," as 
 she said, before tea, Lois seized her flat hat and 
 fled out of the house. 
 
 There was grass around it, and sheep and cows 
 to be soen. Alas, no trees. But there were bushes 
 certainly growing here and there, and Lois had 
 not gone far before she found a flower. With that 
 in her hand she sped on, out of the little grassy 
 vale, upon the rocks that surrounded it, and over
 
 154 NOBODY. 
 
 them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she 
 made her way, as she could, over the roughnesses 
 and hindrances of the rocks, till she got near the 
 edge of the island at that place ; and sat down a little 
 above where the billows of the Atlantic were roll- 
 ing in. The wide sea line was before her, with its 
 mysterious and infinite depth of colour; at her feet 
 the waves were coming in and breaking, slow and 
 gently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an in- 
 vasion of the little rocky domain which defied it and 
 to retire unwillingly, foiled, beaten, and broken, to 
 gather new forces and come on again for a new attack. 
 Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, 
 their sluggish power, and yet their ever recurring 
 discomfiture; admired the changing colours and 
 hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool and love- 
 ly and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed 
 rocks and the dark line of sea weed lying where 
 high tide had cast it up. The breeze blew in her 
 face, gently, but filled with freshness, life, and 
 pungency of the salt air; sea birds flew past hither 
 and thither, sometimes uttering a cry; there was 
 no sound in earth or heaven but that of the water 
 and the wild birds. And by and by, the silence, 
 and the broad freedom of nature, and the sweet 
 freshness of the life-giving breeze, began to take 
 effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in 
 deep breaths; she watched with growing enjoyment 
 the play of light and colour which offered such an 
 endless variety; she let slip, softly and insensibly, 
 every thought and consideration which had any sort
 
 APPLEDORE. ..55 
 
 of care attached to it; her heart grew light, as her 
 lungs took in the salt breath, which had upon her 
 somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois was at 
 no time a very heavy-hearted person ; and I lack a 
 similitude which should fitly image the elastic 
 bound her spirits made now. She never stirred 
 from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head 
 to remember that there might be dinner or supper 
 in prospect somewhere. She rose then and made 
 her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. 
 Wishart just arousing from her sleep. 
 
 " Well, Lois " said the lady, with the sleep still 
 in her voice, " where have you been ? and what 
 have you got? and what sort of a place have we 
 come to ? " 
 
 "Look at that, Mrs. Wishart!" 
 
 "What's that? A white violet! Violets here, 
 on these rocks?" 
 
 " Did you ever see such a white violet ? Look 
 at the size of it, and the colour of it. And here's 
 pimpernel. And 0, Mrs. Wishart, I am so glad 
 we came here that I don't know what to do ! It 
 is just delightful. The air is the best air I ever 
 saw." 
 
 " Can you see it, my dear ? Well, I am glad you 
 are pleased. What's that bell for, dinner or supper? 
 I suppose all the meals here are alike. Let us go 
 down and see." 
 
 Lois had an excellent appetite. 
 
 "This fish is very good, Mrs. Wishart." 
 
 " O my dear, it is just fish ! You are in a 
 *
 
 156 NOBOD*. 
 
 mood to glorify everything. I am envious of you, 
 Lois." 
 
 " But it is really capital ; it is so fresh. I don't 
 believe you can get such blue fish in New York." 
 
 "My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I 
 was as hungry, for anything, as you are." 
 
 " Is it Mrs. Wishart ? " asked a lady who sat 
 opposite them at the table. She spoke politely, 
 with an accent of hope and expectation. Mrs. 
 Wishait acknowledged the identity. 
 
 " 1 am very happy to meet you. I was afraid 1 
 might find absolutely no one here that I knew. I 
 was saying only the other day three days ago; 
 this is Friday, isn't it? yes; it was last Tuesday. 
 I was saying to my sister after our early dinner 
 we always have early dinner at home, and it comes 
 quite natural here we were sitting together after 
 dinner, and talking about my coming. I have 
 been meaning to come ever since three years ago; 
 wanting to make this trip, and never could get 
 away, until this summer things opened out to let 
 rne. I was saying to Lottie, I was afraid I should 
 find nobody here that I could speak to; and when 
 I saw you, I said to myself, Can that be Mrs 
 Wishart? I am so very glad. You have jus* 
 come ? ". 
 
 " To-day," Mrs. Wishart assented. 
 
 " Came by water ? " 
 
 " From Portsmouth." 
 
 "Yes ha, ha 1 " said the affable lady. " O f course. 
 You could not well help it. But from Ne'v York ? '
 
 APPLEDORE. 157 
 
 "By railway. I had occasion to come by land." 
 
 " I prefer it always. In a steamer you never know 
 what will happen to you. If it's good weather, you 
 may have a pleasant time; but you never can tell. 
 I took the steamer once to go to Boston I mean, 
 to Stonington, you know; and the boat was so 
 loaded with freight of some sort or other that she 
 was as low down in the water as she could be and 
 be safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we 
 went so slowly! and then we had a storm, a regu- 
 lar thunderstorm and squall, and the rain poured 
 in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people 
 were sick, and I was very glad and thankful when 
 we got to Stonington. I thought it would never 
 be for pleasure that I would take a boat again." 
 
 "The Fall River boats are the best." 
 
 " I dare say they are, but I hope to be allowed 
 to keep clear of them all. You had a pleasant 
 morning for the trip over from Portsmouth." 
 
 " Very pleasant." 
 
 "It is such a gain to have the sea quiet! It 
 roars and beats here enough in the best of times. 
 I am soire I hope there will not a storm come while 
 we are here; for I shoiild think it must be dread- 
 fully dreary. It's all sea here, you know." 
 
 " I should like to see what a storm here is like," 
 Lois remarked. 
 
 " don't wish that ! " cried the lady, " or your 
 wish may bring it. Don't think me a heathen," 
 she added laughing; "but I" have known such 
 queer things. I must tell you "
 
 158 NOBODY. 
 
 "You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" 
 said Lois smiling, as the lady stopped for a mouth- 
 ful of omelet 
 
 " no, not fair weather ; I am sure, if it did, we 
 should have fair weather a great deal more than 
 we do. But I was speaking of a storm, and I must 
 tell you what I have seen. These fish are very 
 deliciously cooked ! " 
 
 "They understand fish, I suppose, here," said 
 Lois. 
 
 " We were going down the bay, to escort some 
 friends who were going to Europe. There was 
 my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, 
 and one or two others in the party; and Lottie and 
 I went to see them off. I always think it's rather 
 a foolish thing to do, for why shouldn't one say 
 good bye at the water's edge, when they go on 
 board, instead of making a journey of miles out to 
 sea to say it there ? but this time Lottie wanted 
 to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from 
 the land; and you know that is very different; so 
 we went. Lottie always likes to see all she can, 
 and is never satisfied till she has got to the bottom 
 of everything " 
 
 " She would be satisfied with something less than 
 that in this case ? " said Lois. 
 
 " Hey ? She was satisfied," said the lady, not 
 apparently catching Lois's meaning; "she was more 
 delighted with the sea than I was; for though it 
 was quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough 
 to make a good deal of motion; the vessel went
 
 APPLEDORE. 159 
 
 sailing up aiid down a succession of small rolling 
 hills, and I began to think there was nothing 
 steady twside of me, any more than oz^side. I never 
 can bear to be rocked, in any shape or form." 
 
 " You must have been a troublesome baby," said 
 Lois. 
 
 " I don't know how that was ; naturally I have 
 forgotten ; but since I have been old enough to think 
 for myself I never could bear rocking chairs. I like 
 an easy chair as easy as you please but I want 
 it to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not 
 enjoy the water quite as well as my sister did. 
 But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she was 
 going all the way over, and I told her she would 
 have to drop me at some wayside station " 
 
 "Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to 
 carry her coffee cup to her lips. The question 
 seemed not to have been heard. 
 
 " Lottie wished she could see the ocean in a 
 mood n$, quite so quiet; she wished for a storm; 
 she said : she wished a little storm would get up 
 before we got home, that she might see how the 
 waves looked. 1 begged and prayed her not to 
 say so, for our wishes often fulfil themselves. Isn't 
 it extraordinary how they do? Haven't you often 
 observed it, Mrs. Wishart ? " 
 
 "In cases where wishes could take effect," re- 
 turned that lady. " In the case of the elements, I 
 do not see how they could do that." 
 
 " But I don't know how it is,"" said the other; " J 
 nave observed it so often "
 
 IbO NOBODY. 
 
 " You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on 
 rather hastily ; " and I have been trying in vain to 
 recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, of 
 course I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of 
 Shoals one expects to see nobody, and one is sur- 
 prised out of one's memory." 
 
 " I am never surprised out of my memory," said 
 the other chuckling. " I am poor enough in all 
 other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. 
 I can tell you where I first saw you. You were 
 at the Catskill House, with a large party; my 
 brother-in-law, Dr. Salisbury, was there, and he 
 had the pleasure of knowing you. It was two 
 years ago." 
 
 " I recollect being at the Catskill House very 
 well," said Mrs. Wishart, "and of course it was 
 there I became acquainted with you; but you must 
 excuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting 
 all my connections with the rest of the world." 
 
 "01 am sure you are wry excusable," said Dr. 
 Salisbury's sister-in-law. " I am delighted to meet 
 you again. I think one is particularly glad of a 
 friend's face where one had not expected to see 
 it; and I really expected nothing at the Isles of 
 Shoals but sea air." 
 
 " You came for sea air ? " 
 
 " Yes, to get it pure. To be sure, Coney Island 
 beach is not far off for we live in Brooklyn ; but 
 I wanted the sea air wholly sea air quite un 
 mixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York 
 is so near, 1 couldn't fancy it would be the same
 
 APPLEDORE. 161 
 
 thing. I don't want to smell the smoke of it. And 
 I was curious about this place too ; and I have so 
 little opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a 
 pity now when I had the opportunity, not to take 
 the utmost advantage of it. They laughed at me 
 at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles of 
 Shoals or nowhere. And now 1 am very glad 1 
 came." 
 
 " Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back 
 to their own room, " I don't know that woman 
 from Adam. I have not the least recollection 
 of ever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury and 
 he might be anybody's brother-in-law. I wonder 
 if she will keep that seat opposite us ? Because she 
 is worse than a smoky chimney ! " 
 
 " no, not that," said Lois. " She amuses me." 
 
 " Everything amuses you, you happy creature ! 
 You look as if the fairies that wait upon young 
 girls had made you their special care. Did you 
 ever read the ' Eape of the Lock ' ? " 
 
 " I have never read anything " Lois answered, 
 a little soberly. 
 
 "Never mind; you have so much the more pleas- 
 ure before you. ISut the ' Rape of the Lock ' in 
 that story there is a young lady, a famous beau- 
 ty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or 
 fairies. One of them colours her lips; another 
 hides in the folds of her gown; another tucks 
 himself away in a curl of her hair. You make 
 me think of that young lady."
 
 CHAPl'ER Xlll. 
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 
 
 MRS. WISH ART was reminded of Belinda again 
 the next morning. Lois was beaming. She 
 managed to keep their talkative neighbour in order 
 during breakfast; and then proposed to Mrs. Wish- 
 art to take a walk. But Mrs. Wishart excused 
 herself, and Lois set off alone. After a couple of 
 hours she came back with her hands full. 
 
 "0 Mrs. Wishart!" she burst forth, "this is 
 the very loveliest place you ever saw in your life ! 
 I can never thank you enough for bringing me ! 
 What can I do to thank you?" 
 
 " What makes it so delightful ? " said the elder 
 lady smiling at her. " There is nothing here but 
 the sea and the rocks. You have found the phi- 
 losopher's stone, you happy girl ! " 
 
 "The philosopher's stone?" said Lois. "That 
 was what Mr. Dillwyn told me about." 
 
 "Philip? I wish he was here." 
 
 "It would be nice for you. / don't want any- 
 body. The place is enough." 
 
 " What have you found, child ? " 
 
 (162)
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 163 
 
 "Flowers and mosses and shells. the flow- 
 ers are beautiful. But it isn't the flowers, nor any 
 one thing; it is the place. The air is wonderful; 
 and the sea the sea is a constant delight to me." 
 
 " The philosopher's stone ! " repeated the lady. 
 ' What is it, Lois ? You are the happiest creature 
 I ever saw. You find pleasure in everything." 
 
 ' Perhaps it is that," said Lois simply. " Be- 
 cause I am happy." 
 
 "But what business have you to be so happy? 
 living in a corner like Shampuashuh. I beg 
 your pardon, Lois, but it is a corner of the earth. 
 What makes you happy ? " 
 
 Lois answered lightly, that perhaps it was easier 
 to be happy in a corner than in a wide place; and 
 went off again. She would not give Mrs. Wishart 
 an answer she could by no possibility understand. 
 
 Some time later in the day, Mrs. Wishart too 
 becoming tired of the monotony of her own room, 
 descended to the piazza; and was sitting there 
 when the little steamboat arrived with some new 
 guests for the hotel. She watched one particular 
 party approaching. A young lady in advance, 
 attended by a gentleman; then another pair fol- 
 lowing, an older lady, leaning on the arm of a 
 cavalier whom Mrs. Wishart recognized first of 
 them all. She smiled to herself. 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart ! " Julia Caruthers exclaimed as she 
 came upon the verandah. "You are here. That 
 is delightful ! Mamma, here is Mrs. Wishart. But 
 whatever did bring you here? I am reminded of
 
 164 NOBODY. 
 
 Capt Cook's voyages, that I used to read when 1 
 was a child, and I fancy I have come to one of his 
 savage islands; only I don't see the savages. They 
 will appear, perhaps. But I don't see anything 
 else; cocoanut trees, or palms, or bananas, the tale 
 of which used to make my mouth water. There 
 are no trees here at all, that I can see, nor any- 
 thing else. What brought you here, Mrs. Wis- 
 hart? May I present Mr. Lenox. What brought 
 you here, Mrs. Wishart ? " 
 
 " What brought you here ? " was the smiling 
 retort. The answer was prompt. 
 
 "Tom." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart looked at Tom, who came up and 
 paid his respects in marked form ; while his mother, 
 as if exhausted, sank down on one of the chairs. 
 
 " Yes, it was Tom," she repeated. " Nothing 
 would do for Tom but the Isles of Shoals; and so, 
 Julia and I had to follow in his train. In my 
 grandmother's days that would have been differ- 
 ent What is here, dear Mrs. Wishart, besides 
 you? You are not alone?" 
 
 "Not quite. I have brought my little friend, 
 Lois Lothrop with me; and she thinks the Isles 
 of Shoals the most charming place that was ever 
 discovered, by Capt. Cook or anybody else." 
 
 " Ah, she is here ! " said Mrs. Caruthers drily ; 
 while Julia and Mr. Lenox exchanged glances. 
 " Much other company ? " 
 
 " Not much; and what there is comes more from 
 New Hampshire than New York, I fancy."
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 165 
 
 " Ah ! And what else is Ivre then, that anybody 
 should come here for ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet. You must ask Miss Lothrop. 
 Yonder she comes. She has been exploring ever 
 since five o'clock, I believe." 
 
 " I suppose she is accustomed to get up at that 
 hour," remarked the other, as if the fact involved 
 a good deal of disparagement. And then they 
 were all silent, and watched Lois, who was slowly 
 and unconsciously approaching her reviewers. Her 
 hands were again full of different gleanings from 
 the wonderful wilderness in which she had been 
 exploring; and she came with a slow step, still 
 busy with them as she walked. Her hat had 
 fallen back a little ; the beautiful hair was a trifle 
 disordered, shewing so only the better its rich 
 abundance and exquisite colour ; the face it framed 
 arid crowned was fair and flushed, intent upon her 
 gains from rock and meadow for there was a 
 little bit of meadow ground at Appledore; and 
 so happy in its sweet absorption that an involun- 
 tary tribute of homage to its beauty was wrung 
 from the most critical. Lois walked with a light, 
 steady step; her careless bearing was free and 
 graceful; her dress was not very fashionable, but 
 entirely proper for the place; all ejs consented 
 to this, and then all eyes came back to the face. 
 It was so happy, so pure, so unconscious and un- 
 shadowed; the look was of the sort that one does 
 not see in the assemblies of the world's pleasure- 
 seekers; nor ever but in the faces of heaven's
 
 166 NOBODY. 
 
 pleasure-finders. She was a very lovely vision, 
 and somehow all the little group on the piazza 
 with one consent kept silence, watching her as she 
 came. She drew near with busy, pleased thoughts 
 and leisurely, happy steps, and never looked up, 
 till she reached the foot of the steps leading to the 
 piazza. Nor even then; she had picked up her 
 skirt and mounted several steps daintily, before 
 she heard her name and raised her eyes. Then 
 her face changed. The glance of surprise, it is 
 true, was immediately followed by a smile oi civil 
 greeting ; but the look of rapt happiness was gone ; 
 and somehow nobody on the piazza felt the change 
 to be flattering. She accepted quietly Tom's hand, 
 given partly in greeting, partly to assist her up 
 the last steps, and faced the group who were 
 regarding her. 
 
 " How delightful to find you here, Miss Lothrop ! " 
 said Julia, " and how strange that people should 
 meet on the Isles of Shoals." 
 
 " Why is it strange ? " 
 
 " 0, because there is really nothing to come here 
 for, you know. I don't know how we happen to 
 be here ourselves. Mr. Lenox, Miss Lothrop. 
 What have you found in this desert ? " 
 
 " You have been spoiling Appledore ? " added 
 Tom. 
 
 " I don't think I have done any harm," said 
 Lois innocently. " There is enough more, Mr. 
 Caruthers." 
 
 " Enough of what ? " Tom inquired, while Julia
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 167 
 
 and her friend exchanged a swift glance again, 
 of triumph on the lady's part. 
 
 "There is a shell," said Lois, putting one into 
 his hand. " I think that is pretty, and it certainly 
 is odd. And what do you say to those white 
 violets, Mr. Caruthers? And here is some very 
 beautiful pimpernel and here is a flower that I do 
 not know at all, and the rest is what you would 
 call rubbish," she finished with a smile, so charm- 
 ing that Tom could not see the violets for dazzled 
 eyes. 
 
 " Shew me the flowers, Tom," his mother de- 
 manded; and she kept him by her, answering her 
 questions and remarks about them; while Julia 
 asked where they could be found ? 
 
 " I find them in quite a good many places," said 
 Lois; "and every time it is a sort of surprise. I 
 gathered only a few; I do not like to take them 
 away from their places; they are best there." 
 
 She said a word or two to Mrs. Wishart, and 
 passed on into the house. 
 
 "That's the girl," Julia said in a low voice to 
 her lover, walking off to the other end of the 
 verandah with him. 
 
 " Tom might do worse" was the reply. 
 
 " George ! How can you say so ? A girl who 
 doesn't know common English ! " 
 
 " She might go to school," suggested Lenox. 
 
 "To school! At her age! And then, think of 
 her associations and her ignorance of everything 
 a lady should be and snould know. you men!
 
 168 NOBODY. 
 
 I have no patience with you. See a face you 
 like, and you lose your wits at once, the best of 
 you. I wonder you ever fancied me ! " 
 
 " Tastes are unaccountable" the young man re- 
 turned, with a lover-like smile. 
 
 " But do you call that girl pretty ? " 
 
 Mr. Lenox looked portentously grave. " She 
 has handsome hair " he ventured. 
 
 " Hair ! What's hair? Anybody can have hand- 
 some hair, that will pay for it." 
 
 " She has not paid for hers." 
 
 "No, and I don't mean that Tom shall. Now 
 George, you must help. I brought you along to 
 help. Tom is lost if we don't save him. He must 
 not be left alone with this girl; and if he gets talk 
 ing to her you must mix in and break it up; make 
 love to her yourself, if necessary. And we must 
 see to it that they do not go off walking together. 
 You must help me watch and help me hinder. 
 Will you?" 
 
 " Really, I should not be grateful to anyone who 
 did me such kind service." 
 
 " But it is to save Tom." 
 
 " Save him ! From what ? " 
 
 " From a low marriage. What could be worse ?" 
 
 " Adjectives are declinable. There is low, lower, 
 lowest." 
 
 ** Well, what could be lower ? A poor girl, un- 
 educated, inexperienced, knowing nobody, brought 
 ap in the country, and of no family in partic- 
 ular, with nothing in the world but beautiful
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 169 
 
 hair ! Tom ought to have something better than 
 that." 
 
 " I'll study her further, and then tell you what I 
 think." 
 
 " You are very stupid to-day, George ! " 
 
 Nobody got a chance to study Lois much more 
 that day. Seeing that Mrs. Wishart was for the 
 present well provided with company, she withdrew 
 to her own room ; and there she staid. At sup- 
 per she appeared, but silent and reserved; and 
 after supper she went away again. Next morn- 
 ing Lois was late at breakfast; she had to run 
 a gauntlet of eyes, as she took her seat at a little 
 distance. 
 
 "Overslept, Lois?" queried Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 " Miss Lothrop looks as if she never had been 
 asleep, nor ever meant to be," quoth Tom. 
 
 " What a dreadful character ! " said Miss Julia. 
 " Pray, Miss Lothrop, excuse him ; the poor boy 
 means, I have no doubt, to be complimentary." 
 
 " Not so bad, for a beginner," remarked Mr. Len 
 ox. " Ladies always like to be thought bright-eyed, 
 I believe." 
 
 " But never to sleep ! " said Julia. " Imagine the 
 staring effect." 
 
 "Ton are complimentary without effort," Tom re- 
 marked pointedly. 
 
 " Lois, my dear, have you been. out already?" Mrs. 
 Wishart asked. Lois gave a quiet assent and be- 
 took herself to her breakfast. 
 
 " I knew it," said Tom. " Morning air has a won-
 
 170 NOBODY. 
 
 derful effect, if ladies would only believe it. They 
 won't believe it, and they suffer accordingly." 
 
 "Another compliment!" said Miss Julia laugh- 
 ing. "But what do you find, Miss Lothrop, that 
 can attract you so much before breakfast ? or after 
 breakfast either, for that matter." 
 
 " Before breakfast is the best time in the twenty- 
 four hours," said Lois. 
 
 "Pray, for what?" 
 
 " If you were asked, you would say, for sleeping," 
 put in Tom. 
 
 " For what, Miss Lothrop ? Tom, you are trouble- 
 some." 
 
 "For doing what, do you mean ? " said Lois. " I 
 should say, for anything; but I was thinking of 
 enjoying." 
 
 "We are all just arrived," Mr. Lenox began, 
 "and we are slow to believe there is anything to 
 enjoy at the Isles. Will Miss Lothrop enlighten us? " 
 
 4 1 do not know that I can," said Lois. " You 
 might not find what I find." 
 
 " What do you find ? " 
 
 " If you will go out with me to-morrow morning 
 at five o'clock, I will shew you," said Lois, with a 
 little smile of amusement, or of archness, which 
 quite struck Mr. Lenox and quite captivated Tom. 
 
 " Five o'clock ! " the former echoed. 
 
 " Perhaps he would not then see what you see," 
 Julia suggested. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Lois. " I am by no means 
 sure."
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 171 
 
 She was let alone after that; and as soon as break 
 fast was over she escaped again. She made her way 
 to a particular hiding place she had discovered, in 
 the rocks, down near the shore; from which she had 
 a most beautiful view of the sea and of several of the 
 other islands. Her nook of a seat was comfortable 
 enough, but all around it the rocks were piled in 
 broken confusion, sheltering her, she thought, from 
 any possible chance comer. And this was what 
 Lois wanted ; for in the first place she was minded 
 to keep herself out of the way of the newly-arrived 
 party, each and all of them ; and in the second place 
 she was intoxicated with the delights of the ocean. 
 Perhaps I should say rather, of the ocean and the 
 rocks and the air and the sky, and of everything at 
 Appledore, Where she sat, she had a low brown 
 reef in sight, jutting out into the sea just below her; 
 and iipon this reef the billows were rolling and 
 breaking in a way utterly and wholly entrancing. 
 There was no wind, to speak of, yet there was much 
 more motion in the sea than yesterday ; which often 
 happens from the effect of winds that have been at 
 work far away; and the breakers which beat and 
 foamed upon that reef, and indeed upon all the 
 shore, were beyond all telling graceful, beautiful, 
 wonderful, mighty, and changeful. Lois had been 
 there to see the sunrise; now that fairy hour was 
 long passed and the day was in its full bright 
 strength ; but still she sat spell-bound and watched 
 the waves; watched the colours on the rocks, the 
 brown and the grey; the countless, nameless hues
 
 172 NOBODY. 
 
 of ocean, and the light on the neighbouring islands, 
 so different now from what they had been a few 
 hours ago. 
 
 Now and then a thought or two went to the 
 hotel and its new inhabitants, and passed in review 
 the breakfast that morning. Lois had taken scarce 
 any part in the conversation; her place at table 
 put her at a distance from Mr. Caruthers; and 
 after those few first words she had been able to 
 keep very quiet, as her wish was. But she had 
 listened, and observed. Well, the talk had not 
 been, as to quality, one whit better than what 
 Shampuashuh could furnish every day; nay, Lois 
 thought the advantage of sense and wit and shrewd- 
 ness was decidedly on the side of her country neigh- 
 bours; while the staple of talk was nearly the same. 
 A small sort of gossip and remark, with commen- 
 tary, on other people and other people's doings, 
 past, present and to come. It had no interest 
 whatever to Lois's mind, neither subject nor treat- 
 ment. But the manner to-day gave her something 
 to think about. The manner was different; and 
 the manner not of talk only, but of all that was 
 done. Not so did Shampuashuh discuss its neigh- 
 bours, and not so did Shampuashuh eat bread 
 and butter. Shampuashuh ways were more rough, 
 angular, hurried; less quietness, less grace, whether 
 of movement or speech; less calm security in every 
 action; less delicacy of taste. It must have been 
 good blood in Lois which recognized all this, but 
 recognize it she did; and as I said, every now and
 
 A SUMMER HOTEL. 173 
 
 then an involuntary thought of it came over the 
 girl. She felt that she was unlike these people; 
 not of their class or society; she was sure they 
 knew it too and would act accordingly; that is, 
 not rudely or ungracefully making the fact known, 
 but nevertheless feeling, and shewing that they 
 felt, that she belonged to a detached portion of 
 humanity. Or they; what did it matter? Lois 
 did not misjudge or undervalue herself; she knew 
 she was the equal of these people, perhaps more 
 than their equal, in true refinement of feeling and 
 delicacy of perception ; she knew she was not awk- 
 ward in mariner; yet she knew too that she had 
 not their ease of habit, nor the confidence given 
 by knowledge of the world and all other sorts of 
 knowledge. Her up-bringing and her surroundings 
 had not been like theirs; they had been rougher, 
 coarser, and if of as good material, of far in- 
 ferior form. She thought with herself that she 
 would keep as much out of their company as she 
 properly could. For there was beneath all this 
 consciousness an unrecognized, or at least unac- 
 knowledged, sense of otner things in Lois's mind ; 
 of Mr. Caruthers' possible feelings, his people's 
 certain displeasure, and her own promise to her 
 grandmother. She would keep herself out of the 
 way; easy at Appledore 
 
 " Have I found you Miss Lothrop ? " said a soft, 
 gracious voice with a glad accent.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WATCHED. 
 
 HAVE I found you, Miss Lothrop ? " 
 Looking over her shoulder, Lois saw the 
 handsome features of Mr. Caruthers, wearing a 
 smile of most undoubted satisfaction. And to the 
 scorn of all her previous considerations, she was 
 conscious of a flush of pleasure in her own mind. 
 This was not suffered to appear. 
 
 " I thought I was where nobody could find me," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Do you think there is such a place in the 
 whole world?" said Tom gallantly. Meanwhile 
 he scrambled over some inconvenient rocks to a 
 place by her side. " I am very glad to find you, 
 Miss Lothrop, both ways, first at Appledore, and 
 then here." 
 
 To this compliment Lois made no reply. 
 
 " What has driven you to this little out-of-the- 
 way nook ? " 
 
 " You mean Appledore ? " 
 
 "No, no ! this very uncomfortable situation among 
 the rocks here ? What drove you to it? " 
 (174)
 
 WATCHED. 175 
 
 " You think there is no attraction ? " 
 
 "I don't see what attraction there is here for 
 you" 
 
 "Then you should not have come to Apple- 
 dore." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "There is nothing here for you." 
 
 "Ah, but! What is there for you? Do you 
 find anything here to like now, really ? " 
 
 " I have been down in this 'uncomfortable place' 
 ever since near five o'clock except while we were 
 at breakfast." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "What for?" said Lois laughing. "If you ask, 
 it is no use to tell you, Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 " Ah, be generous ! " said Tom. " I'm a stupid 
 fellow, I know; but do try and help me a little to 
 a sense of the beautiful. Is it the beautiful, by 
 the way, or is it something else? " 
 
 Lois's laugh rang softly out again. She was a 
 country girl, it is true; but her laugh was as sweet 
 to hear as the ripple of the waters among the 
 stones. The laugh of anybody tells very much 
 of what he is, making revelations undreampt of 
 often by the laugher. A harsh croak does not 
 come from a mind at peace, nor an empty clan- 
 gour from a heart full of sensitive happiness ; nor 
 a coarse laugh from a person of refined sensibilities, 
 nor a hard laugh from a tender spirit. Moreover, 
 people cannot dissemble successfully in laughing; 
 the truth comes out in a startling manner. Lois's
 
 176 NOBODY. 
 
 laugh was sweet and musical; it was a pleasure 
 to hear. And Tom's eyes said so. 
 
 "I always knew I was a stupid fellow," he 
 said ; " but I never felt myself so stupid as to-day ! 
 What is it, Miss Lothrop ? " 
 
 " What is what, Mr. Caruthers ? I beg your 
 pardon." 
 
 " What is it you find in this queer place ? " 
 
 " I am afraid it is waste trouble to tell you." 
 
 "Good morning!" cried a cheery voice here from 
 below them ; and looking towards the water they 
 saw Mr. Lenox, making his way as best he could 
 over slippery seaweed and wet rocks. 
 
 " Hollo, George ! " cried Tom in a different tone 
 " What are you doing there ? " 
 
 "Trying to keep out of the water, don't you 
 see?" 
 
 "To an ordinary mind that object would seem 
 more likely to be attained if you kept further away 
 from it." 
 
 " May I come up where you are ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " said Lois. " But take care how you 
 do it." 
 
 A little scrambling and the help of Tom's hand 
 accomplished the feat; and the new comer looked 
 about him with much content. 
 
 " You came the other way," he said. " I see. 1 
 shall know how next time. What a delightful post, 
 Miss Lothrop ! " 
 
 "I have been trying to find what she came here 
 for; and she won't tell me " said Tom.
 
 WATCHED. 177 
 
 "You know what you came here for," said his 
 friend. " Why cannot you credit other people with 
 as much curiosity as you have yourself ? " 
 
 " I credit them with more," said Tom. " But cu- 
 riosity on Appledore will find itself baffled, I should 
 say." 
 
 " Depends on what curiosity is after," said Lenox. 
 "Tell him, Miss Lothrop; he will not be any the 
 wiser." 
 
 " Then why should 1 tell him ? " said Lois. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall ! " 
 
 Lois's laugh came again. 
 
 " Seriously. If any one were to ask me, not only 
 what we but what anybody should come to this place 
 for, I should be unprepared with an answer. I am 
 forcibly reminded of an old gentleman who went 
 up Mount Washington on one occasion when I also 
 went up. It came on to rain a sudden summer 
 gust and down-pour, hiding the very mountain it- 
 self from our eyes; hiding the path, hiding the 
 members of the party from each other. We were 
 descending the mountain by that time, and it was 
 ticklish work for a nervous person ; every one was 
 committed to his own sweet guidance ; and as I went 
 blindly stumbling along, I came every now and then 
 upon the old gentleman, also stumbling along, on 
 his donkey. And whenever I was near enough 
 to him I could hear him dismally soliloquizing, 
 'Why am I here!' in a tone of mingled disgust 
 and self-reproach which was in the highest degree 
 comical."
 
 NOBODY. 
 
 "So that is your state of mind now, is it?" said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Not quite yet, but I feel it is going to be. Un 
 less Miss Lothrop can teach me something." 
 
 "There are some things that cannot be taught," 
 said Lois. 
 
 "And people hey? But I am not one of those, 
 Miss Lothrop." 
 
 He looked at her with such a face of demure in- 
 nocence that Lois could not keep her gravity. 
 
 " Now Tom is" Lenox went on. " You cannot 
 teach him anything, Miss Lothrop. It would be 
 lost labour." 
 
 " I arn not so stupid as you think," said Tom. 
 
 " He's not stupid, he's obstinate," Lenox went 
 on, addressing himself to Lois. " He takes a thing 
 in his head. Now that sounds intelligent; but it 
 isn't, or he isn't; for when you try, you can't get it 
 out of his head again. So he took it into his head 
 to come to the Isles of Shoals, and hither he has 
 dragged his mother and his sister, and hither by 
 consequence he has dragged me. Now I ask you, 
 as one who can tell what have we all come here 
 for ? " 
 
 Half quizzically, half inquisitively, the young 
 man put the question, lounging on the rocks and 
 looking up into Lois's face. Tom grew impatient. 
 But Lois was too humble and simple-minded to fall 
 into the snare laid for her. I think she had a half 
 discernment of a hidden intent under Mr. Lenox's 
 words; nevertheless in the simple dignity of truth
 
 WATCHED. 179 
 
 she disregarded it, and did not even blush, either 
 with consciousness or awkwardness. She was a 
 little amused. 
 
 "I suppose experience will have' to be your 
 teacher, as it is other people's." 
 
 " I have heard so ; I never saw anybody who 
 had learned much that way." 
 
 " Come, George, that's ridiculous. Learning by 
 experience is proverbial," said Tom. 
 
 " I know ! but it's a delusion nevertheless. You 
 sprain your ankle among these stones, for instance. 
 Well you won't put your foot in that particular 
 hole again; but you will in another. That's the 
 way you do, Tom. But to return Miss Lothrop, 
 what has experience done for you in the Isles of 
 Shoals?" 
 
 " I have not had much yet." 
 
 " Does it pay, to come here ? " 
 
 " I think it does." 
 
 " How came anybody to think of coming here at 
 first ? that is what I should like to know. I never 
 saw a more uncompromising bit of barrenness. Is 
 there no desolation anywhere else, that men should 
 come to the Isles of Shoals ? " 
 
 " There was quite a large settlement here once," 
 said Lois. 
 
 "Indeed! When?" 
 
 " Before the war of the revolution. There were 
 hundreds of people; six hundred, somebody told 
 me." 
 
 " What became of them ? M
 
 180 NOBODY. 
 
 "Well," said Lois smiling, "as that is more 
 than a hundred years ago, I suppose they all 
 died." 
 
 "And their descendants? " 
 
 " Living on the mainland, most of them. When 
 the war came, they could not protect themselves 
 against the English." 
 
 " Fancy, Tom," said Lenox. " People liked it 
 so well on these rocks that it took ships of war 
 to drive them away ! " 
 
 "The people that live here now are just as fond 
 of them, I am told." 
 
 " What earthly or heavenly inducement ? " 
 
 " Yes, 1 might have said so too, the first hour 
 of my being here, or the first day. The second, 
 I began to understand it." 
 
 " Do make me understand it ! " 
 
 " If you will come here at five o'clock to-morrow, 
 Mr. Lenox in the morning, I mean, and will 
 watch the wonderful sunrise, the waking up of 
 land and sea; if you will stay here then patiently 
 till ten o'clock, and see the changes and the colours 
 on everything let the sea and the sky speak to 
 you, as they will ; then they will tell you all you 
 can understand ! " 
 
 "All I can understand. H'm! May I go home 
 for breakfast?" 
 
 " Perhaps you must ; but you will wish you need 
 not." 
 
 " Will you be here?" 
 
 " No," said Lois. " I will be somewhere else."
 
 WATCHED. 181 
 
 "But I couldn't stand such a long talk with 
 myself as that," said the young man. 
 
 "It was a talk with Nature I recommended to 
 you." 
 
 " All the same. Nature says queer things, if 
 you let her alone." 
 
 " Best listen to them, then." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " She tells you the truth." 
 
 " Do you like the truth ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Of course. Do not you ? " 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 "Yes, always. Do not you?" 
 
 " It's fearfully awkward ! " said the young man. 
 
 " Yes, isn't it ? " Tom echoed. 
 
 " Do you like falsehood, Mr. Lenox ? " 
 
 " I dare nbt say what I like in this presence. 
 Miss Lothrop, I am very much afraid you are a 
 Puritan." 
 
 "What is a Puritan?" asked Lois simply. 
 
 " He doesn't know ! " said Tom. " You needn't 
 ask him." 
 
 " I will ask you then, for I do not know. What 
 dees he mean by it ? " 
 
 " He doesn't know that," said Lenox laughing. 
 " I will tell you, Miss Lothrop if I can. A Pu- 
 ritan is a person so much better than the ordinary 
 run of mortals that she is not afraid to let Nature 
 and Solitude speak to her dares to look roses iu 
 the face, in fact; has no charity for the crooked 
 ways of the world or for the people entangled in
 
 182 NOBODY. 
 
 them; a person who can bear truth and has no 
 need of falsehood, and who is thereby lifted above 
 the multitudes of this world's population, and stands 
 as it were alone." 
 
 " I'll report that speech to Julia," said Tom 
 laughing. 
 
 " But that is not what a ' Puritan ' generally 
 means, is it?" said Lois. They both laughed now 
 at the quaint simplicity with which this was spoken. 
 
 "That is what it ts," Tom answered. 
 
 "I do not think the term is complimentary, 
 Lois went on, shaking her head; "however Mr. 
 Lenox's explanation may be. Isn't it ten o'clock?" 
 
 " Near eleven." 
 
 " Then I must go in." 
 
 The two gentlemen accompanied her, making 
 themselves very pleasant by the way. Lenox 
 asked her about flowers; and Tom, who was some- 
 thing of a naturalist, told her about mosses and 
 lichens, more than she knew; and the walk was 
 too short for Lois. But on reaching the hotel she 
 went straight to her own room and staid there. 
 So also after dinner, which of course brought her 
 to the company, she went back to her solitude and 
 her work. She must write home, she said. Yet 
 writing was not Lois's sole reason for shutting 
 herself up. 
 
 She would keep herself out of the way, she 
 reasoned. Probably this company of city people 
 with city tastes would not stay long at Appledore ; 
 while they were there she had better be seen as
 
 WATCHED. 183 
 
 little as possible. For she felt that the sight 
 of Tom Caruthers' handsome face had been a pleas- 
 ure ; and she felt, and what woman does not ? that 
 there is a certain very sweet charm in being liked, 
 independently of the question how much you like 
 in return. And Lois knew, though she hardly in 
 her modesty acknowledged it to herself, that Mr. 
 Caruthers liked her. Eyes and smiles and mariner 
 shewed it; she could not mistake it; nay, engaged 
 man though he was, Mr. Lenox liked her too. She 
 did not quite understand him or his manner; with 
 the keen intuition of a true woman she felt vaguely 
 what she did not clearly discern, and was not sure 
 of the colour of his liking, as she was sure of Tom's. 
 Tom's it might not be deep, but it was true, and 
 it was pleasant; and Lois remembered her promise 
 to her grandmother. She even, when her letter 
 was done, took out her Bible and opened it at that 
 well known place in 2nd Corinthians; 'Be not 
 unequally yoked together with unbelievers' and 
 she looked hard at the familiar words. Then, said 
 Lois to herself, it is best to keep at a distance from 
 temptation. For these people were unbelievers. 
 They could not understand one word of Christian 
 hope or joy, if she spoke them. What had she 
 and they in common ? 
 
 Yet Lois drew rather a long breath once or twice 
 in the course of her meditations. These "unbe- 
 lievers" were so pleasant. Yes, it was an undoubt- 
 ed fact; they were pleasant people to be with and 
 to talk to. They might not think with her, or com-
 
 184 NOBODY. 
 
 prehend her even, in the great questions of life and 
 duty; in the lesser matters of every day experience 
 they were well posted. They understood the world 
 and the things in the world, and the men; and they 
 were skilled and deft and graceful in the arts of so- 
 ciety. Lois knew no young men, nor old, for that 
 matter, who were, as gentlemen, as social com- 
 panions, to be compared with these and others their 
 associates in graces of pei'son and manner, and in- 
 terest of conversation. She went over again and 
 again in memory the interview and the talk of that 
 morning; and not without a secret thrill of gratifi- 
 cation, although also not without a vague half per- 
 ception of something in Mr. Lenox's manner that 
 she could not quite read and did not quite trust. 
 What did he mean? He was Miss Caruthers' prop- 
 erty; how came he to busy himself at all with her 
 own insignificant self? Lois was too innocent to 
 guess; at the same time too finely gifted as a wo- 
 man to be entirely hoodwinked. She rose at last 
 with a third little sigh, as she concluded that her 
 best way was to keep as well away as she could 
 from this pleasant companionship. 
 
 But she could not stay in-doors. For once in her 
 life she was at Appledore; she must not miss her 
 chance. The afternoon was half gone; the .house 
 all still; probably everybody was in his room and 
 she could slip out safely. She went down on soft 
 feet; she found nobody on the piazza, not a creature 
 in sight; she was glad; and yet, she would not have 
 been sorry to see Tom Caruthers' genial face, which
 
 WATCHED. 185 
 
 was always so very genial towards her. Inconsis- 
 tent ! but who is not inconsistent ? Lois thought 
 herself free, and had half descended the steps from 
 the verandah, when she heard a voice and her own 
 name. She paused and looked round. 
 
 " Miss Lothrop ! are you going for a walk ? may 
 I come with you?" and therewith emerged the 
 form of Miss Julia from the house. " Are you go- 
 ing for a walk ? will you let me go along?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Lois. 
 
 " I am regularly cast away here," said the young 
 lady joining her. " I don't know what to do with 
 myself. Is there anything to do or to see in this 
 place?" 
 
 " I think so. Plenty." 
 
 " Then do shew me what you have found. Where 
 are you going ? " 
 
 " I am going down to the shore somewhere. I 
 have only begun to find things yet ; but I never in my 
 life saw a place where there was so much to find." 
 
 " What, pray ? I cannot imagine. I see a little 
 wild bit of ground, and that is all I see; except the 
 sea beating on the rocks. It is the forlornest place 
 of amusement I ever heard of in my life ! " 
 
 "Are you fond of flowers, Miss Caruthers?" 
 
 "Flowers? No, not very. I like them to dresa 
 a dinner table, or to make rooms look pretty, of 
 course ; but I am not what you call ' fond ' of them 
 That means, loving to dig in the dirt, don't it?" 
 
 Lois presently stooped and gathered a flower or 
 two.
 
 l?sb NOBODY. 
 
 " Did you ever see such lovely white violets ? " 
 she said; "and is not that eyebright delicate, with 
 its edging of colour? There are quantities of flow- 
 ers here. And have you noticed how deep and rich 
 the colours are ? No, you have not been here long 
 enough perhaps; but they are finer than any I ever 
 saw of their kinds." 
 
 " What do you find down at the shore ? " said 
 Miss Caruthers, looking very disparagingly at the 
 slight beauties in Lois's fingers. "There are no 
 flowers there, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I can hardly get away from the shore, every 
 time I go to it," said Lois. "01 have only begun 
 to explore yet. Over on that end of Appledore 
 there are the old remains of a village, where the 
 people used to live, once upon a time. I want to 
 go and see that, but I haven't got there yet. Now 
 take care of your footing, Miss Caruthers " 
 
 They descended the rocks to one of the small 
 coves of the island. Out of sight now of all save 
 rocks and sea and the tiny bottom of the cove filled 
 with mud and sand. Even the low bushes which 
 grow so thick on Appledore were out of sight, 
 huckleberry and bay berry and others; the wild- 
 ness and solitude of the spot were perfect. Miss 
 Caruthers found a dry seat on a rock. Lois began 
 to look carefully about in the rnud and sand. 
 
 " What are you looking for ? " her companion 
 asked somewhat scornfully. 
 
 " Anything I can find ! " 
 
 " What can you find in that mud ? "
 
 WATCHED. 187 
 
 " This is gravel, where I am looking now." 
 
 " Well what is in the gravel ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Lois, in the dreamy tone of 
 rapt enjoyment. "I don't know yet. Plenty of 
 broken shells." 
 
 " Broken shells ! " ejaculated the other. " Are you 
 collecting broken shells ? " 
 
 " Look," said Lois coming to her and display- 
 ing her palm full of sea treasures. " See the colours 
 of those bits of shell that's a bit of a mussel; and 
 that is a piece of a snail shell, 1 think ; and aren't 
 those little stones lovely ? " 
 
 " That is because they are wet ! " said the other 
 in disgust. "They will be nothing when they are 
 dry." 
 
 Lois laughed and went back to her search ; and 
 Miss Julia waited awhile with impatience for some 
 change in the programme. 
 
 "Do you enjoy this, Miss Lothrop ?" 
 
 " Very much ! More than I can in any way tell 
 you ! " cried Lois, stopping and turning to look at 
 her questioner. Her face answered for her; it was 
 all flushed and bright with delight and the spirit of 
 discovery; a pretty creature indeed she looked as 
 she stood there on the wet gravel of the cove ; but 
 her face lost brightness for a moment, as Lois dis- 
 cerned Tom's head above the herbs and grasses 
 that bordered the bank above the cove. Julia saw 
 the change, and then the cause of it. 
 
 " Tom ! " said she. " What brought you here ? " 
 
 "What brought you, I suppose," said Mr. Tom,
 
 188 NOBODY. 
 
 springing down the bank. "Miss Lothrop, what 
 can you be doing ? " Passing his sister he went to 
 the other girl's side. And now there were two 
 searching and peering into the mud and gravel 
 which the tide had left wet and bare; and Miss 
 Caruthers, sitting on a rock a little above them, 
 looked on; much marvelling at the follies men 
 will be guilty of when a pretty face draws them 
 on. 
 
 " Tom Tom ! what do you expect to find ? " 
 she cried after awhile. But Tom was too busy 
 to heed her. And then appeared Mr. Lenox upon 
 the scene. 
 
 "You too ! " said Miss Caruthers.' " Now you 
 have only to go down into the mud like the 
 others and complete the situation. Look at Tom ! 
 Poking about to see if he can find a whole snail 
 shell in the wet stuff there. Look at him ! George, 
 a brother is the most vexatious thing to take care 
 of in the world. Look at Tom ! " 
 
 Mr. Lenox did, with an amused expression of 
 feature. 
 
 " Bad job, Julia " he said. 
 
 " It is in one way, but it isn't in another, for I 
 am not going to be baffled. He shall not make a 
 fool of himself with that girl." 
 
 " She isn't a fool." 
 
 " What then ? " said Julia sharply. 
 
 " Nothing. I was only thinking of the materials 
 upon which your judgment is made up." 
 
 "Materials!" echoed Julia. "Yours is made
 
 WATCHED. 189 
 
 up upon a nice complexion. That bewilders all 
 men's faculties. Do you think she is very pretty, 
 George ? " 
 
 Mr. Lenox had no time to answer, for Lois, and 
 of course Tom, at this moment left the cove bottom 
 and came towards them. Lois was beaming, like 
 a child, with such bright, pure pleasure ; and com- 
 ing up, shewed upon her open palm a very delicate 
 little white shell, not a snail shell by any means. 
 " I have found that ! " she proclaimed. 
 
 " What is that ? " said Julia disdainfully, though 
 not with rudeness. 
 
 " You see. Isn't it beautiful ? And isn't it won- 
 derful that it should not be broken ? If you think 
 of the power of the waves here, that have beat 
 to pieces almost everything rolled and ground 
 and crushed everything that would break and 
 this delicate little thing has lived through it." 
 
 " There is a power of life in some delicate things," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Power of fiddlestick ! " said his sister. " Miss 
 Lothrop, I think this place is a terrible desert ! " 
 
 " Then we will not stay here any longer," said 
 Lois. " I am very fond of these little coves." 
 
 " No, no, I mean Appledore generally. It is the 
 stupidest place I ever was in in my life. There 
 is nothing here." 
 
 Lois looked at the lady with an expression of 
 wondering compassion. 
 
 "Your experience does not agree with that of 
 Miss Caruthers ? " said Lenox.
 
 190 NOBODY. 
 
 " No," said Lois. " Let us take her to the place 
 where you found me this morning; maybe she 
 would like that." 
 
 "We must go, I suppose," groaned Julia, as 
 Mr. Lenox helped her up over the rocks after 
 the lighter - footed couple that preceded them. 
 "George, I believe you are in the way." 
 
 " Thanks ! " said the young man laughing. " But 
 you will excuse me for continuing to be in the 
 way ? " 
 
 " I don't know you see, it just sets Tom free 
 to attend to her. Look at him picking those 
 purple irises as if iris did not grow anywhere 
 else ! And now elderberry blossoms ! And he will 
 give her lessons in botany, I shouldn't wonder. 
 Tom's a goose ! " 
 
 "That disease is helpless," said Lenox laughing 
 again. 
 
 " But George, it is madness ! " 
 
 Mr. Lenox's laugh rang out heartily at this. His 
 sovereign mistress was not altogether pleased. 
 
 " I do certainly consider and so do you, I do 
 certainly consider unequal marriages to be a great 
 misfortune to all concerned." 
 
 " Certainly inequalities that cannot be made up. 
 For instance, too tall and too short do not match 
 well together. Or for the lady to be rich and the 
 man to be poor; that is perilous." 
 
 " Nonsense, George ! don't be ridiculous ! Height 
 is nothing, and money is nothing; but family and 
 breeding and habits "
 
 WATCHED. lyi 
 
 * What is her family ? " asked Mr. Lenox, purs 
 ing up his lips as if for a whistle. 
 
 " No family at all. Just country people, living 
 at Shampuashuh." 
 
 "Don't you know, the English middle class is 
 the finest in the world ? " 
 
 " No ! no better than ours." 
 
 " My dear, we have no middle class." 
 
 " But what about the English middle class ? whj 
 do you bring it up ? " 
 
 " It owes its great qualities to its having the 
 mixed blood of the higher and the lower." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! What is that to us, if we have no 
 middle class ? But don't you see, George, what an 
 unhappy thing it would be for Tom to marry this 
 girl?" * 
 
 Mr. Lenox whistled slightly, smiled, and pulled 
 a purple iris blossom from a tuft growing in a little 
 spot of wet ground. He offered it to his disturbed 
 companion. 
 
 " There is a country flower for you " he observed. 
 
 But Miss Caruthers flung the flower impatiently 
 away, and hastened her steps to catch up with her 
 brother and Lois who made better speed than she. 
 Mr. Lenox picked up the iris and followed, smiling 
 again to himself. 
 
 They found Lois seated in her old place, where 
 the gentlemen had seen her in the morning. She 
 rose at once to give the seat to Miss Caruthers, and 
 herself took a less convenient one. It was almost 
 a new scene to Lois, that lay before them now
 
 192 NOBODY. 
 
 The lights were from a different quarter; the col- 
 ours those of the sinking day ; the sea, from some 
 inexplicable reason, was rolling higher than it had 
 done six hours ago, and dashed on the rocks and 
 on the reef in beautiful breakers, sending up now 
 and then a tall jet of foam or a shower of spray. 
 The hazy mainland shore line was very indistinct 
 under the bright sky and lowering sun ; while every 
 bit of west-looking rock, and every sail, and every 
 combing billow was touched with warm hues or 
 gilded with a sharp reflection. The air was like 
 the air nowhere but at the Isles .of Shoals; with 
 the sea's salt strength and freshness, and at times 
 a waft of perfumes from the land side. Lois drank 
 it with an inexpressible sense of exhilaration ; while 
 her eye went joyously roving from the lovely light 
 on a sail, to the dancing foam of the breakers, to 
 the colours of driftwood or seaweed or moss left 
 wet and bare on the rocks, to the line of the dis- 
 tant ocean, or the soft vapoury racks of clouds 
 floating over from the west. She well nigh forgot 
 her companions altogether; who however were less 
 absorbed. Yet for a while they all sat silent, look- 
 ing partly at Lois, partly at each other, partly no 
 doubt at the leaping spray from the broken waves 
 on the reef. There was only the delicious sound 
 of the splash and gurgle of waters the scream of 
 a gull the breath of the air the chirrup of a few 
 insects; all was wild stillness and freshness and 
 pureness, except only that little group of four hu- 
 man beings. And then, the puzzled vexation and
 
 WATCHED. 193 
 
 perplexity in Tom's face, and the impatient disgust 
 in the face of his sister, were too much for Mr. Len- 
 ox's sense of the humorous; and the silence was 
 broken by a hearty burst of laughter, which natu- 
 rally brought all eyes to himself. 
 
 " Pardon ! " said the young gentleman. " The 
 delight in your face, Julia, was irresistible." 
 
 " Delight ! " she echoed. " Miss Lothrop, do you 
 find something here in which you take pleasure ? " 
 
 Lois looked round. " Yes," she said simply. " 1 
 find something everywhere to take pleasure in." 
 
 " Even at Shampuashuh ? " 
 
 " At Shampuashuh of course. That is my home." 
 
 " But I never take pleasure in anything at home. 
 It is all such an old story. Every day is just like 
 any other day, and I know beforehand exactly how 
 everything will be; and one dress is like another, 
 and one party is like another. I must go away 
 from home to get any real pleasure." 
 
 Lois wondered if she succeeded. 
 
 "That's a nice look-out for you, George," Caru- 
 thers remarked. 
 
 " I shall know how to make home so agreeable 
 that she will not want to wander any more," said 
 the other. 
 
 "That is what the women do for the men, down 
 our way," said Lois smiling. She began to feel a 
 little mischief stirring. 
 
 "What sort of pleasures do you find, or make, 
 at home, Miss Lothrop ? " Julia went on. " You 
 are very quiet, are you not.?"
 
 194 NOBODY. 
 
 "There is always one's work," said Lois lightly. 
 She knew it would be in vain to tell her questioner 
 the instances that came up in her memory; the 
 first dish of ripe strawberries brought in to sur- 
 prise her grandmother; the new potatoes uncom- 
 monly early; the fine yield of her raspberry bushes; 
 the wonderful beauty of the early mornings in her 
 garden; the rarer, sweeter beauty of the Bible read- 
 ing and talk with old Mrs. Armadale; the tri- 
 umphant afternoons on the shore, from which she 
 and her sisters came back with great baskets 
 of long clams; and countless other visions of 
 home comfort and home peace, things accomplished 
 and the fruit of them enjoyed. Miss Caruthers 
 could not understand all this; so Lois answered 
 simply, 
 
 "There is always one's work." 
 
 " Work ! I hate work," cried the other woman. 
 " What do you call work ? " 
 
 " Everything that is to be done," said Lois. " Ev- 
 erything, except what we do for mere pleasure. 
 We keep no servant; my sisters and I do all that 
 there is to do, in doors and out." 
 
 " Out of doors!" cried Miss Caruthers. "What 
 do you mean ? You cannot do the farming ? " 
 
 "No," said Lois smiling merrily; "no; not the 
 fanning. That is done by men. But the garden- 
 ing I do." 
 
 " Not seriously ? " 
 
 " Very seriously. If you will come and see us, 
 I will give you some new potatoes of my planting.
 
 WATCHED. 195 
 
 I am rather proud of them. I was just thinking 
 of them." 
 
 " Planting potatoes ! " repeated the other lad} 7 , 
 not too politely. "Then that is the reason why 
 you find it a pleasure to sit here and see those 
 waves beat." 
 
 The logical concatenation of this speech was 
 not so apparent but that it touched all the risible 
 nerves of the party ; and Miss Caruthers could not 
 understand why all three laughed so heartily. 
 
 " What did you expect when you came here ? " 
 asked Lois, still sparkling with fun. 
 
 " Just what I found ! " returned the other rather 
 grumbly,
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER X\. 
 
 TACTICS. 
 
 ISS CARUTHERS carried on the tactics with 
 which she had begun. Lois had never in 
 her life found her society so diligently cultivated. 
 If she walked out, Miss Caruthers begged to be 
 permitted to go along; she wished to learn about 
 the Islands. Lois could not see that she advanced 
 much in learning; and sometimes wondered that 
 she did not prefer her brother or her lover as 
 instructors. True, her brother and her lover were 
 frequently of the party; yet even then Miss Julia 
 seemed to choose to take her lessons from Lois; 
 and managed as much as possible to engross her. 
 Lois could see that at such times Tom was often 
 annoyed, and Mr. Lenox amused, at something, 
 she could not quite tell what; and she was too 
 inexperienced, and too modest withal, to guess. 
 She only knew that she was not as free as she 
 v^ould have liked to be. Sometimes Tom found 
 a chance for a little walk and talk with her alone; 
 and those quarters of an hour were exceedingly 
 
 pleasant; Tom told her abou* flowers, in a scientific 
 
 (196)
 
 TACTICS. 197 
 
 way, that is; and made himself a really charm- 
 ing companion. Those minutes flew swiftly. But 
 they never were many. If not Julia, at least Mr. 
 Lenox was sure to appear upon the scene; and 
 then, though he was very pleasant too, and more 
 than courteoiis to Lois, somehow the charm was 
 gone. It was just as well, Lois told herself; but 
 that did not make her like it. Except with Tom, 
 she did not enjoy herself thoroughly in the Garu- 
 thers society. She felt, with a sure, secret, fine 
 instinct, what they were not high bred enough to 
 hide ; that they did not accept her as upon their 
 own platform. I do not think the consciousness 
 was plain enough to be put into words; neverthe- 
 less it was decided enough to make her quite 
 willing to avoid their company. She tried, but 
 she could not avoid it. In the house as out of the 
 house. Tom would seek her out and sit down 
 beside her; and then Julia would come to learn a 
 crochet stitch, or Mrs. Caruthers would call her to 
 remedy a fault in her knitting, or to hold her wool 
 to be wound; refusing to let Mr. Lenox hold it, 
 under the plea that Lois did it better ; which was 
 true, no doubt. Or Mr. Lenox himself would join 
 them, and turn everything Tom said into banter; 
 till Lois could not help laughing, though yet she 
 was vexed. 
 
 So days went on. And then, something hap- 
 pened to relieve both parties of the efforts they 
 were making; a very strange thing to happen at 
 the Isles of Shoals. Mrs. Wishart was taken se-
 
 198 NOBODY. 
 
 riously ill. She had not been quite well when she 
 came ; and she always afterwards maintained that 
 the air did not agree with her. Lois thought it 
 could not be the air, and must be some imprudence; 
 but however it were, the fact was undoubted. 
 Mrs. Wishart was ill; and the doctor who was 
 fetched over from Portsmouth to see her, said she 
 could not be moved, and must be carefully nursed. 
 Was it the air? It couldn't be the air, he an- 
 swered; nobody ever got sick at the Isles of Shoals. 
 Was it some imprudence? Couldn't be, he said; 
 there was no way in which she could be impru- 
 dent; she could not help living a natural life at 
 Appledore. No, it was something the seeds of 
 which she had brought with her; and the strong 
 sea air had developed it. Seasoning which Lois 
 did not understand; but she understood nursing, 
 and gave herself to it, night and day. There was 
 a sudden relief to Miss Julia's watch and ward; 
 nobody was in danger of saying too many words 
 to Lois now ; nobody could get a chance ; she was 
 only seen by glimpses. 
 
 " How long is this sort of thing going on ? " 
 inquired Mr. Lenox one afternoon. He ami Julia 
 had been spending a very unrefreshing hour on 
 the piazza doing nothing. 
 
 " Impossible to say." 
 
 "I'm rather tired of it. How long has Mrs. 
 Wishart been laid up, now ? " 
 
 "A week; and she has no idea of being moved. ' 
 
 "Well, are we fixtures too?"
 
 TACTICS. 19? 
 
 "You know what I came for, George. If Tom 
 will go, I will, and thankful." 
 
 " Torn," said the gentleman, as Tom at this 
 minute came out of the house, "have you got 
 enough of Appledore ? " 
 
 " I don't care about Appledore. It's the fishing." 
 Tom, I may remark, had been a good deal out 
 in a fishing boat during this past week. " That's 
 glorious." 
 
 " But you don't care for fishing, old boy." 
 
 "Oh, don't I!" 
 
 "No, not a farthing. Seriously, don't you think 
 we might mend our quarters ? " 
 
 " You can," said Tom. " Of course I can't go 
 while Mrs. Wishart is sick. I can't leave those 
 two women alone here to take care of themselves. 
 You can take Julia and my mother away, where 
 you like." 
 
 "And a good riddance " muttered Lenox, as 
 the other ran down the steps and went off. 
 
 " He won't stir," said Julia. " You see how 
 right I was." 
 
 " Are you sure about it ? " 
 
 " Why of course 1 am ! Quite sure. What are 
 you thinking about?" 
 
 "Just wondering whether you might have made 
 a mistake." 
 
 "A mistake! How? I don't make mistakes." 
 
 " That's pleasant doctrine ! But I am not so 
 certain. I have been thinking whether Tom is 
 likely ever to get anything better "
 
 200 NOBODY. 
 
 " Than this girl ? George, don't you think he 
 deserves something better? My brother? What 
 are you thinking of?" 
 
 "Tom has got an enormous fancy for her; I can 
 see that. It's not play with him. And upon my 
 honour, Julia, I do not think she would do any- 
 thing to wear off the fancy." 
 
 "Not if she could help it! " returned Julia 
 scornfully. 
 
 " She isn't a bit of a flirt." 
 
 "You think that is a recommendation? Men 
 like flirts. This girl don't know how, that is all." 
 
 " I do not believe she knows how to do anything 
 wrong." 
 
 " Now do set up a discourse in praise of virtue ! 
 What if she don't ? That's nothing to the purpose. 
 I want Tom to go into political life." 
 
 "A virtuous wife wouldn't hurt him there." 
 
 " And an ignorant, country -bred, untrained wo- 
 man wouldn't help him, would she ? " 
 
 " Tom will never want help in political life, for 
 he will never go into it. Well, I have said my 
 say, and resign myself'to Appledore for two weeks 
 longer. Only, mind you, I question if Tom will 
 ever get anything as good again in the shape of a 
 wife, as you are keeping him from now. It is 
 something of a responsibility to play Providence." 
 
 The situation therefore remained unchanged for 
 several days more. Mrs. Wishart needed constant 
 attention, and had it; and nobody else saw Lois 
 for more than the merest snatches of time. I think
 
 TACTICS. 201 
 
 Lois made these moments as short as she could. 
 Tom was in despair, but stuck to his post and his 
 determination; and with sighs and groans his 
 mother and sister held fast to theirs. The hotel 
 at Appledore made a good thing of it. 
 
 Then one day Tom was lounging on the piazza 
 at the time of the steamer's coming in from Ports 
 mouth; and in a short time thereafter a new guest 
 was seen advancing towards the hotel. Tom gave 
 her a glance or two ; he needed no more. She was 
 middle-aged, plain, and evidently not from that 
 quarter of the world where Mr. Tom Caruthers 
 was known. Neatly dressed however, and coming 
 with an alert, business step over the grass, and so 
 she mounted to the piazza. There she made straight 
 for Tom, who was the only person visible. 
 
 " Is this the place where a lady is lying sick and 
 another lady is tendin' her ? " 
 
 "That is the case here," said Tom politely. "Miss 
 Lothrop is attending upon a sick friend in this 
 house." 
 
 " That's it Miss Lothrop. I'm her aunt. How's 
 the sick lady? Dangerous? 
 
 " Not at all, I should say," returned Tom ; " but 
 Miss Lothrop is very much confineM with her. She 
 will be very glad to see you, I have no doubt. Al- 
 low me to see about your room." And so saying, 
 he would have relieved the new-comer of a heavy 
 hand bag. 
 
 " Never mind," she said, holding fast. " You're 
 very obliging but when I'm away from home I
 
 202 NOBODY. 
 
 always hold fast to whatever I've got; and I'll go 
 to Miss Lothrop's room. Are there more folks in 
 the house?" 
 
 ''Certainly. Several. This way I will shew 
 you." 
 
 " Then I s'pose there's plenty to help nurse, and 
 they have no call for me ? " 
 
 " I think Miss Lothrop has done the most of the 
 nursing. Your coming will set her a little more 
 at liberty. She has been very much confined with 
 her sick friend." 
 
 " What have the other folks been about? " 
 
 " Not helping much, I am afraid. And of course 
 a man is at a disadvantage at such a time." 
 
 "Are they all men?" inquired Mrs. Marx sud- 
 denly. 
 
 44 No I was thinking of my own case. I would 
 lave been very glad to be useful." 
 
 " Oh ! "said the lady. " That's the sort o' world 
 we live in ; most of it aint good for much when it 
 comes to the pinch. Thank you much obliged." 
 
 Tom had guided her upstairs and along a gal- 
 lery, and now indicated the door of Lois's room. 
 Lois was quite as glad to see her aunt as Tom had 
 supposed she wduld be. 
 
 "Aunty! Whatever has brought you here, to 
 the Isles of Shoals ? " 
 
 " Not to see the Isles, you may bet. I've come 
 to look after you." 
 
 " Why I'm well enough. But it's very good of 
 you."
 
 TACTICS. 203 
 
 " No, it aint, for I wanted an excuse to see what 
 the place is like. You haven't grown thin yet. 
 What's all the folks about, that they let you do all 
 the nursing? " 
 
 "0 it comes to me naturally, being with Mrs. 
 Wishart. Who should do it ? " 
 
 "To be sure," said Mrs. Marx; "who should do 
 it ? Most folks are good at keepin' out o' the way 
 when they are wanted. There's one clever chap 
 in the house he shewed me the way up here, 
 who's he ? " 
 
 "Fair hair?" 
 
 " Yes, and curly. A handsome fellow. And he 
 knows you." 
 
 " they all know me by this time." 
 
 " This one particularly ? " 
 
 " Well I knew him in New York." 
 
 " I see ! What's the matter with this sick 
 woman?" 
 
 " I don't know. She is nervous, and feverish, 
 and does not seem to get well as she ought to do." 
 
 " Well, if I was going to get sick, I'd choose 
 some other place than a rock out in the middle of 
 the ocean. Seems to me I would. One never 
 knows what one may be left to do." 
 
 " One cannot generally choose where one will be 
 sick," said Lois smiling. 
 
 "Yes, you can," said the other as sharp as a 
 needle. " If one's in the wrong place, one can keep 
 up till one can get to the right one. You needn't 
 tell me. I know it, and I've done it. I've held
 
 204 NOBODY. 
 
 up when I hadn't feet to stand upon, nor a head 
 to hold. If you're a mind to, you can. Nervous, 
 eh ? That's the trouble o' folks that haven't enough 
 to do. Mercy! I don't wonder they get nervous. 
 But you've had a little too much, Lois, and you 
 shew it. Now you go and lie down. I'll look 
 after the nerves." 
 
 " How are they all at home ? " 
 
 " Splendid ! Charity goes round like a bee in a 
 bottle, as usual. Ma's well; and Madge is as hand- 
 some as ever. Garden's growin' up to weeds, and 
 I don't see as there's anybody to help it; but that 
 corner peach tree's ripe, and as good as if you had 
 fifteen gardeners." 
 
 " It's time I was home ! " said Lois sighing. 
 
 "No, it aint, not if you're havin' a good time 
 nere. Are you havin' a good time ? " 
 
 " Why I've been doing nothing but take care of 
 Mrs. Wishart for this week past." 
 
 " Well, now I'm here. You go off. Do you like 
 this queer place, I want to know ? " 
 
 "Aunty, it is just perfectly delightful! " 
 
 " Is it? I don't see it. Maybe I will by and by. 
 Now go off, Lois." 
 
 Mrs. Marx from this time took upon herself the 
 post of head nurse. Lois was free to go out as 
 much as she pleased. Yet she made less use of 
 this freedom than might have been expected, 
 and still confined herself unnecessarily to the sick 
 room. 
 
 "Why don't you go?" her aunt remonstrated
 
 TACTICS. 205 
 
 " Seems to me you aint so dreadful fond of the Isles 
 of Shoals after all." 
 
 "If one could be alone!" sighed Lois; "but 
 there is always a pack at my heels." 
 
 " Alone ! Is that what you're after ? I thought 
 half the fun was to see the folks." 
 
 " Well, some of them," said Lois. " But as sure 
 as I go out to have a good time with the rocks 
 and the sea, as I like to have it, there comes first 
 one and then another and then another, and maybe 
 a fourth; and the game is up." 
 
 "Why? I don't see how they should spoil 
 it." 
 
 "0 they do not care for the things I care for; 
 the sea is nothing to them, and the rocks less than 
 nothing; and instead of being quiet, they talk non- 
 sense, or what seems nonsense to me; and I'd as 
 lieve be at home." 
 
 " What do they go for then? " 
 
 " I don't know. I think they do not know what 
 to do with themselves." 
 
 "What do they stay here for, then, for pity's 
 sake? If they are tired, why don't they go away ? " 
 
 " I can't tell. That is what I have asked myself 
 a great many times. They are all as well as fishes, 
 every one of them." 
 
 Mrs. Marx held her peace and let things go their 
 train for a few days more. Mrs. Wishart still gave 
 her and Lois a good deal to do, though her ail- 
 ments aroused no anxiety. After those few days. 
 Mrs. Marx spoke again.
 
 206 NOBODY. 
 
 "What keeps you so mum?" she said to Lois. 
 "Why don't you talk, as other folks do?" 
 
 " I hardly see them, you know, except at meals." 
 
 " Why don't you talk at meal times? that's what 
 I am askin' about. You can talk as well as any- 
 body ; and you sit as mum as a stick." 
 
 " Aunty, they all talk about things I do not 
 understand." 
 
 "Then I'd talk of samething they don't under- 
 stand. Two can play at that game." 
 
 " It wouldn't be amusing," said Lois laughing. 
 
 "Do you call their talk amusing? It's the stu- 
 pidest stuff I ever did hear. I can't make head or 
 tail of it; nor I don't believe they can. Sounds to 
 me as if they were tryin' amazin' hard to be witty, 
 and couldn't make it out." 
 
 "It sounds a good deal like that " Lois as- 
 sented. 
 
 " They go on just as if you wasn't there ! n 
 
 "And why shouldn't they?" 
 
 " Because you are there." 
 
 " I am nothing to them," said Lois quietly. 
 
 "Nothing to them! You are worth the whole 
 lot." 
 
 "They do not think so." 
 
 "And politeness is politeness." 
 
 "I sometimes think," said Lois, "that politeness 
 is rudeness." 
 
 " Well I wouldn't let myself be put in a corner 
 so, if I was you." 
 
 " But I am in a corner, tc them. All the world
 
 TACTICS. 207 
 
 is where they live ; and I live in a little corner down 
 by Shampuashuh " 
 
 "Nobody's big enough to live in more than a 
 corner if you come to that; and one corner's as 
 good as another. That's nonsense, Lois." 
 
 "Maybe, aunty. But there is a certain knowl- 
 edge of the world, and habit of the world, which 
 makes some people very different from other peo- 
 ple; you can't help that." 
 
 "I don't want to help it?" said Mrs. Marx. "I 
 wouldn't have you like them, for all the black 
 sheep in my flock."
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 
 
 A FEW more days went by ; and then Mrs. Wish- 
 art began to mend; so much that she insisted 
 her friends must not shut themselves up with her. 
 " Do go down stairs and see the people ! " she said ; 
 "or take your kind aunt, Lois, and -shew her the 
 wonders of Appledore. Is all the world gone yet?" 
 
 "Nobody's gone," said Mrs. Marx; "except one 
 thick man and one thin one; and neither of 'em 
 counts." 
 
 " Are the Caruthers here ? " 
 
 "Every man of 'em." 
 
 "There is only one man of them; unless you 
 count Mr. Lenox." 
 
 "I don't count him. I count that fair-haired 
 chap. All the rest of 'em are stayin' for him." 
 
 "Staying for him!" repeated Mrs. Wishart" 
 
 "That's what they say. They seem to take it 
 sort o' hard, that Tom's so fond of Appledore." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart was silent a minute and then she 
 smiled. 
 
 (208)
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 209 
 
 " He spends his time trollin' for blue fish," Mrs, 
 Marx went on. 
 
 "Ah, I dare say. Do go down, Mrs. Marx, and 
 take a walk, and see if he has caught anything." 
 
 Lois would not go along ; she told her aunt what 
 to look for and which way to take, and said she 
 would sit still with Mrs. Wishart and keep her 
 amused. 
 
 At the very edge of the narrow valley in which 
 the house stood, Mrs. Marx came face to face with 
 Tom Caruthers. Tom pulled off his hat with 
 great civility and asked if he could do anything 
 for her. 
 
 "Well, you can set me straight, I guess," said 
 the lady. " Lois told me which way to go, but I 
 don't seem to be any wiser. Where's the old dead 
 village? South, she said; but in such a little place 
 south and north seems all alike. I don' know 
 which is south." 
 
 "You are not far out of the way," said Tom. 
 " Let me have the pleasure of shewing you. Why 
 did you not bring Miss Lothrop out ? " 
 
 "Best reason in the world; I couldn't. She 
 would stay and see to Mrs. Wishart." 
 
 "That's the sort of nurse I should like to have 
 take care of me," said Tom, "if ever I was in 
 trouble." 
 
 " Ah, wouldn't you ! " returned Mrs. Marx. 
 "That's a kind o' nurses that aint in the mar- 
 ket. Look here, young man where are we 
 going?"
 
 210 NOBODY. 
 
 " All right," said Tom. " Just round over these 
 rocks. The village was at the south end of the 
 Island, as Miss Lois said. I believe she has studied 
 up Appledore twice as much as any of the rest 
 of us." 
 
 It was a fresh sunny day in September; every- 
 thing at Appledore was in a kind of glory, difficult 
 to describe in words, and which no painter ever 
 yet put on canvas. There was wind enough to 
 toss the waves in lively style ; and when the two 
 companions came out upon the scene of the one- 
 time settlement of Appledore, all brilliance of light 
 and air and colour seemed to be sparkling together. 
 Under this glory lay the ruins and remains of what 
 had been once homes and dwelling places of men. 
 Grass-grown cellar excavations, moss-grown stones 
 and bits of walls; little else; but a number of those 
 lying soft and sunny in the September light. Soft, 
 and sunny, and lonely; no trace of human habita- 
 tion any longer, where once human activity had 
 been in full play. Silence, where the babble of voices 
 had been ; emptiness, where young feet and old feet 
 had gone in and out; barrenness, where the fruits 
 of human industry had been busily gathered and 
 dispensed. Something in the quiet, sunny scene 
 stilled for a moment the riot very sensitive spirits 
 of the two who had come to visit it; while the sea 
 waves rose and broke in their old fashion, as they 
 had done on those same rocks in old time, and 
 would do, for generation after generation yet to 
 come. That was always the same. It made the
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 211 
 
 contrast greater with what had passed and was 
 passing away. 
 
 "There was a good many of 'em." Mrs. Marx' 
 voice broke the pause which had come upon the talk. 
 
 " Quite a village," her companion assented. 
 
 " Why aint they here now ? " 
 
 "Dead and gone?" suggested Tom, half laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Of course ! I mean, why aint the village here, 
 and the people ? The people are somewhere the 
 children and grandchildren of those that lived here ; 
 what's become of 'em ? " 
 
 " That's true," said Tom ; " they are somewhere. 
 I believe they are to be found scattered along the 
 coast of the mainland." 
 
 " Got tired o' livin' between sea and sky with 
 no ground to speak of. Well, I should think they 
 would!" 
 
 "Miss Lothrop says, on the contrary, that they 
 never get tired of it, the people who live here; and 
 that nothing but necessity forced the former inhab- 
 itants to abandon Appledore." 
 
 " What sort of necessity ? " 
 
 " Too exposed, in the time of the war." 
 
 " Ah ! likely. Well, we'll go, Mr. Caruthers 
 this sort o' thing makes me melancholy, and that' 
 against my principles to be." Yet she stood still 
 looking. 
 
 " Miss Lothrop likes this place," Tom remarked 
 
 "Then it don't make her melancholy." 
 
 " Does anything ? "
 
 212 NOBODY. 
 
 " I hope so. She's human." 
 
 " But she seems to me always to have the sweet- 
 est air of happiness about her. that ever I saw in 
 a human being." 
 
 " Have you got where you can see air?" inquired 
 Mrs. Marx sharply. Tom laughed. 
 
 " I mean, that she finds something everywhere 
 to like and to take pleasure in. Now I confess, 
 this bit of ground, full of graves and old excava- 
 tions, has no particular charms for me; and my sis- 
 ter will not stay here a minute." 
 
 " And what does Lois find here to delight her ? " 
 
 " Everything ! " said Tom with enthusiasm. " I 
 was with her the first time she came to this cor- 
 ner of the island, and it was a lesson, to see her 
 delight. The old cellars and the old stones, and 
 the graves; and then the short green turf that 
 grows among them, and the flowers and weeds 
 what I call weeds, who know no better but 
 Miss Lois tried to make me see the beauty of the 
 sumach and all the rest of it " 
 
 " And she couldn't ! " said Mrs. Marx. " Well, 
 I can't. The noise of the sea, and the sight of it, 
 eternally breaking there upon the rocks, would 
 drive me out of my mind, I believe, after a while." 
 And yet Mrs. Marx sat down upon a turfy bank 
 and looked contentedly about her. 
 
 "Mrs. Marx," said Tom suddenly, "you are a 
 good friend of Miss Lothrop,- aren't you?" 
 
 " Try to be a friend to everybody. I've counted 
 sixty -six o' these old cellars ! "
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 
 
 " I believe there are more than that. I think 
 Miss Lothrop said seventy." 
 
 " She seems to have told you a good deal." 
 
 " I was so fortunate as to be here alone with 
 her. Miss Lothrop is often very silent in company. 
 
 " So I observe," said Mrs. Marx dryly. 
 
 "I wish you'd be my friend too! " said Tom, now 
 taking a seat by her side. "You said you are a 
 friend of everybody." 
 
 "That is, of everybody who needs me," said Mrs. 
 Marx, casting a side look at Tom's handsome, win- 
 ning countenance. "I judge, young man, that aint 
 your case." 
 
 " But it is, indeed ! " 
 
 " Maybe," said Mrs. Marx incredulously. " Go on, 
 and let's hear." 
 
 " You will let me speak to you frankly ? " 
 
 "Don't like any other sort." 
 
 " And you will answer me also frankly ? " 
 
 "I don't know," said the lady, "but one thing I 
 can say: if I've got the answer, I'll give it to you." 
 
 " I don't know who should," said Tom flatteringly, 
 "if not you. I thought I could trust you, when 
 I had seen you a few times." 
 
 "Maybe you won't think so after to-day. But 
 goon. What's the business?" 
 
 " It is very important business " said Tom slowly ; 
 "and it concerns Miss Lothrop." 
 
 "You have got hold of me now," said Lois's aunt, 
 "I'll go into the business, you may depend upon 
 it. What is the business ? "
 
 214 NOBODY. 
 
 "Mrs. Marx, I have a great admiration for Miss 
 Lothrop." 
 
 " I dare say. So have some other folks." 
 
 " I have had it for a long while. I came here 
 because I heard she was coming. I have lost my 
 heart to her, Mrs. Marx." 
 
 " Ah ! What are you going to do about it ? 
 or what can I do about it ? Lost hearts can't be 
 picked up under every bush." 
 
 " I want you to tell me what I shall do." 
 
 " What hinders your making up your own 
 mind?" 
 
 " It is made up ! long ago." 
 
 "Then act upon it. What hinders you? I don't 
 see what I have got to do with that." 
 
 " Mrs. Marx, do you think she would have me 
 if I asked her ? As a friend, won't you tell me ? " 
 
 " I don't see why I should, if I knew, which I 
 don't. I don't see how it would be a friend's part 
 Why should I tell you, supposin' I could? She's 
 the only person that knows anything about it." 
 
 Tom pulled his moustache right and left in a 
 worried manner. 
 
 " Have you asked her ? " 
 
 " Haven't had a ghost of a chance, since I have 
 been here!" cried the young man; "and she isn't 
 like other girls; she don't give a fellow a bit of 
 help." 
 
 Mrs. Marx laughed out. 
 
 "I mean," said Tom, "she is so quiet and steady, 
 and she don't talk, and she don't let one see what
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 215 
 
 she thinks. I think she must know I like her 
 but I have not the least idea whether she likes 
 me." 
 
 " The shortest way would be to ask her." 
 
 " Yes, but you see I can't get a chance. Miss 
 Lothrop is always up stairs in that sick room and 
 if she comes down, my sister or my mother or 
 somebody is sure to be running after her." 
 
 " Besides you," said Mrs. Marx. 
 
 "Yes, besides me." 
 
 " Perhaps they don't want to let you have her all 
 to yourself." 
 
 " That's the deuced truth ! " said Tom in a burst 
 of vexed candour. 
 
 " Perhaps they are afraid you will do something 
 imprudent if they do not take care." 
 
 " That's what they call it, with their ridiculous 
 ways of looking at things. Mrs. Marx, I wish peo- 
 ple had sense." 
 
 " Perhaps they are right. Perhaps they have 
 sense, and it would be imprudent." 
 
 "Why? Mrs. Marx, I am sure you have sense. 
 I have plenty to live upon, and live as I like. 
 There is no difficulty in my case about ways and 
 means." 
 
 " What is the difficulty, then ? " 
 
 " You see, I don't want to go against my mother 
 and sister, unless I had some encouragement to 
 think that Miss Lothrop would listen to me; and 1 
 thought I hoped you would be able to help me/ 
 
 " How can I help you ? "
 
 216 NOBODY. 
 
 "Tell me what I shall do." 
 
 " Well, when it comes to marryin'," said Mrs. 
 Marx, " I always say to folks, If you can live and 
 get along without gettin' married don't ! " 
 
 " Don't get married ? " 
 
 "Just so," said Mrs. Marx. "Don't get married; 
 not if you can live without." 
 
 " You to speak so ! " said Tom. " I never should 
 have thought, Mrs. Marx, you were one of that sort." 
 
 " What sort ? " 
 
 "The sort that talk against marriage." 
 
 " I don't! only against marryin' the wrong one; 
 and unless it's somebody that you can't live with- 
 out, you may be sure it aint the right one." 
 
 " How many people in the world do you suppose 
 are married on that principle ? " 
 
 " Everybody that has any business to be married 
 at all," responded the lady with great decision. 
 
 "Well, honestly, I don't feel as if I could live 
 without Miss Lothrop. I've been thinking about 
 it for months." 
 
 " I wouldn't stay much longer in that state," said 
 Mrs. Marx, "if I was you. When people don' 
 know whether they're goin' to live or die, their ex- 
 istence aint much good to 'em." 
 
 " Then you think I may ask her ? " 
 
 "Tell me first, what would happen if you did 
 that is, supposin' she said yes to you, about which 
 I don't know anything, no more'n the people that 
 lived in these old collars. What would happen if 
 you did? and if she did?"
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 217 
 
 " I would make her happy, Mrs. Marx ! " 
 
 "Yes " said the lady slowly "I guess you 
 would; for Lois won't say yes to anybody she can 
 live without; and I've a good opinion of your dis- 
 position; but what would happen to other people?" 
 
 "My mother and sister, you mean?" 
 
 "Them, or anybody else that's concerned." 
 
 "There is nobody else concerned," said Tom, idly 
 defacing the rocks in his neighbourhood by tearing 
 the lichen from them. And Mrs. Marx watched 
 him and patiently waited. 
 
 " There is no sense in it ! " he broke out at last. 
 " It is all folly. Mrs. Marx, what is life good for, 
 but to be happy ? " 
 
 "Just so," assented Mrs. Marx. 
 
 " And haven't I a right to be happy in my own 
 way ? " 
 
 "If you can." 
 
 "So I think ! I will ask Miss Lothrop if she will 
 have me this very day. I'm determined." 
 
 "But I said, if you can. Happiness is some- 
 thin' besides sugar and water. What else'll go 
 in?"' 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Tom, looking at 
 her. 
 
 "Suppose you're satisfied, and suppose she's satis- 
 fied. Will everybody else be ? " 
 
 Tom went at the rocks again. 
 
 " It's my affair and hers," he said then. 
 
 "And what will your mother and sister say?" 
 
 "Julia has chosen for herself"
 
 218 NOBODY. 
 
 " I should say, she has chosen very well. Does 
 she like your choice." 
 
 " Mrs. Marx," said the poor young man, leaving 
 the lichens, " they bother me to death ! " 
 
 "Ah? How is that?" 
 
 "Always watching, arid hanging around, and 
 giving a fellow no chance for his life, and putting 
 in their word. They call themselves very wise, 
 but I think it is the other thing." 
 
 " They don't approve, then ? " 
 
 "I don't want to marry money!" cried Tom; 
 " and I don't care for fashionable girls. I'm tired 
 of 'em. Lois is worth the whole lot. Such absurd 
 stuff! And she is handsomer than any girl that 
 was in town last winter." 
 
 " They want a fashionable girl " said Mrs. Marx 
 calmly. 
 
 " Well, you see," said Tom, " they live for that. 
 If an angel was to come down from heaven, they 
 would say her dress wasn't cut right, and they 
 wouldn't ask her to dinner!" 
 
 " I don't suppose they'd know how to talk to her, 
 either, if they did," said Mrs. Marx. " It would be 
 uncomfortable ; for them ; I don't suppose an angel 
 can be uncomfortable. But Lois aint an angel. I 
 guess you'd better give it up, Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 Tom turned towards her a dismayed kind of look, 
 but did not speak. 
 
 "You see," Mrs. Marx went on, "things haven't 
 gone very far. Lois is all right; and you'll come 
 back to life again. A fish that swims in fresh wa-
 
 MRS. MARX'S OPINION. 219 
 
 ter couldn't go along very well with one that lires 
 in the salt. That's how I look at it. Lois is one 
 sort, and you're another. I don't know but both 
 sorts are good ; but they are different, and you can't 
 make 'em alike. 
 
 "I would never want her to be different!" burst 
 out Tom. 
 
 " Well, you see, she aint your sort exactly," Mrs. 
 Marx added, but not as if she were depressed by 
 the consideration. "And then, Lois is religious." 
 
 " You don't think that is a difficulty ? Mrs. Marx, 
 I am not a religious man myself; at least I have 
 never made any profession ; but I assure you I have 
 a great respect for religion." 
 
 "That is what folks say of something a great 
 way off, and that they don't want to come nearer." 
 
 " My mother and sister are members of the church ; 
 and I should like my wife to be, too." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I told you, I have a great respect for religion; 
 and I believe in it especially for women." 
 
 " I don't see why what's good for them shouldn't 
 be good for you." 
 
 "That need be no hindrance," Tom urged. 
 
 " Well, I don' know. I guess Lois would think 
 it was. And maybe you would think* it was, too, 
 come to find out. I guess you'd better let things 
 be, Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 Tom looked very gloomy. " You think sne would 
 not have me ? " he repeated. 
 
 " I think you will get over it," said Mrs. Marx
 
 220 NOBODY. 
 
 rising. "And I think you had better find somebody 
 that will suit your mother and sister." 
 
 And after that time, it may be said, Mrs. Marx 
 was as careful of Lois on the one side as Mrs. and 
 Miss Caruthers were of Tom on the other. Two or 
 three more days passed away. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Wishart ? " Miss Julia asked one 
 afternoon. 
 
 " First-rate," answered Mrs. Marx. " She's sittin' 
 up. She'll be off and away before you know it." 
 
 "Will you stay, Mrs. Marx, to help in the care 
 of her, till she is able to move?" 
 
 " Came for nothin' else." 
 
 "Then I do not see, mother, what good we can 
 do by remaining longer. Could we, Mrs. Marx?" 
 
 " Nothiri', but lose your chance o' somethin' bet- 
 ter, I should say." 
 
 "Tom, do you want to do any more fishing? 
 Aren't you ready to go ? " 
 
 " Whenever you like " said Tom gloomily.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 
 
 THE Caruthers family took their departure from 
 Appledore. 
 
 " Well, we have had to fight for it, but we have 
 saved Tom," Julia remarked to Mr. Lenox, standing 
 by the guards and looking back at the islands as 
 the steamer bore them away. 
 
 "Saved!" 
 
 " Yes ! " she said decidedly, " we have saved 
 him." 
 
 " It's a responsibility " said the gentleman, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " I am not clear that 
 you have not ' saved ' Tom from a better thing than 
 he'll ever find again." 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like her ! " said Miss Julia sharply. 
 " How ridiculous all you men are about a pretty 
 face!" 
 
 The remaining days of her stay in Appledore Lois 
 roved about to her heart's content. And yet, I will 
 not say that her enjoyment of rocks and waves was 
 just what it had been at her first arrival. The isl- 
 and seemed empty, somehow. Appledore is lovely 
 
 (221)
 
 222 NOBODY. 
 
 in September and October; and Lois sat on the rocks 
 and watched the play of the waves, and delighted 
 herself in the changing colours of sea and sky and 
 clouds, and gathered wild flowers, and picked up 
 shells; but there was somehow very present to her 
 the vision of a fair, kindly, handsome face, and eyes 
 that sought hers eagerly, and hands that were ready 
 gladly with any little service that there was room 
 to render. She was no longer troubled by a group 
 of people dogging her footsteps; and she found now 
 that there had been, however inopportune, a little 
 excitement in that. It was very well they were 
 gone, she acknowledged; for Mr. Caruthers might 
 have come to like her too well, and that would 
 have been Inconvenient; and yet, it is so pleasant to 
 be liked ! Upon the sober humdrum of Lois's every- 
 day home life, Tom Caruthers was like a bit of brilliant 
 embroidery ; and we know how involuntarily the eyea 
 seek out such a spot of colour, and how they return 
 to it. Yes; life at home was exceedingly pleasant, 
 but it was a picture in grey; this was a dash of blue 
 and gold. It had better be grey, Lois said to her- 
 self; life is not glitter. And yet, a little bit of glitter 
 an the greys and browns is so delightful. Well, it 
 was gone. There was small hope now that anything 
 so brilliant would ever illuminate her quiet course 
 again. Lois sat on the rocks and looked at the sea, 
 and thought about it. If they, Tom and his friends, 
 had not come to Appledore at all, her visit would 
 have been most delightful; nay, it had been most 
 delightful, whether or no; but this and her New
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 223 
 
 York experience had given Lois a new standard by 
 which to measure life, and men. From one point 
 of view, it is true, the new lost in comparison with 
 the old. Tom and his people were not " religious." 
 They knew nothing of what made her own life so 
 sweet; they had not her prospects or joys in looking 
 on towards the far future, nor her strength and 
 security in view of the trials and vicissitudes of 
 earth and time. She had the best of it; as she joy- 
 fully confessed to herself, seeing the glorious break- 
 ing waves and watching the play of light on them, 
 and recalling Cowper's words 
 
 " My Father made them all ! " 
 
 But there remained another aspect of the matter 
 which raised other feelings in the girl's mind. 
 The difference in education. Those people could 
 speak French, and Mr. Cai-uthers could speak 
 Spanish, and Mr. Lenox spoke German. Whether 
 well or ill, Lois did not know; but in any case, 
 how many doors, in literature and in life, stood 
 open to them ; which were closed and locked doora 
 to her. And- we all know, that ever since Blue- 
 beard's time I might go back further and say, 
 ever since Eve's time Eve's daughters have been 
 unable to stand before a closed door without the 
 wish to open it. The impulse, partly for good, 
 partly for evil, is incontestable. Lois fairly longed 
 to know what Tom and his sister knew, in the 
 fields of learning. And there were other fields. 
 There was a certain light, graceful, inimitable,
 
 224 NOBODY. 
 
 habit of the world and of society ; familiarity with 
 all the pretty and refined ways and uses of the 
 more refined portions of society; knowledge and 
 practice of proprieties, as the above mentioned 
 classes of the world recognize them; which all 
 seemed to Lois greatly desirable and becoming. 
 Nay, the said "proprieties" and so forth were not 
 always of the most important kind; Miss Caru- 
 thers could be what Lois considered coolly rude, 
 upon occasion; and her mother could be care- 
 lessly impolite; and Mr. Lenox could be wanting 
 in the delicate regard which a gentleman should 
 shew to a lady; "I suppose," thought Lois, "he 
 did not think I would know any better." In these 
 things, these essential things, some of the farmers 
 of Shampuashuh and their wives were the peers at 
 least, if not the superiors, of these fine ladies and 
 gentlemen. But in lesser things ! These people 
 knew how to walk gracefully, sit gracefully, eat 
 gracefully. Their manner and address in all the 
 little details of life, had the ease and polish and 
 charm which comes of use and habit and confi- 
 dence. The way Mr. Lenox and Tom would give 
 help to a lady in getting over the rough rocks of 
 Appledore; the deference with which they would 
 attend to her comfort and provide for her pleasure; 
 the grace of a bow, the good breeding of a smile; 
 the ease of action which comes from trained physi- 
 cal and practised mental nature; these and a great 
 deal more, even the details of dress and equipment 
 which are only possible to those who know how, and
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 
 
 which are instantly seen to be excellent and becom- 
 ing, even by those who do not know how; all this 
 had appealed mightily to Lois's nature, and raised 
 in her longings. and regrets more or less vague, 
 but very real. All that, she would like to have. 
 She wanted the familiarity with books, and also 
 the familiarity with the world, which some people 
 had; the secure a plomb and the easy facility of 
 manner which are so imposing and so attractive to 
 a girl like Lois. She felt that to these people life 
 was richer, larger, wider, than to her; its riches 
 more at command; the standpoint higher from 
 which to take a view of the world; the facility 
 greater which could get from the world what it 
 had to give. And it was a closed door before which 
 Lois stood. Truly on her side of the door there 
 was very much that she had and they had not; 
 she knew that, and did not fail to recognize it and 
 appreciate it. What was the Lord's beautiful cre- 
 ation to them ? a place to kill time in and get rid 
 of it as fast as possible. The ocean, to them, was 
 little but a great bath tub; or a very inconvenient 
 separating medium which prevented them from 
 going constantly to Paris and Rome. To judge by 
 all that appeared, the sky had no colours for them, 
 and the wind no voices, and the flowers no speech. 
 And as for the Bible, and the hopes and joys which 
 take their source there, they knew no more of it so 
 than if they had been Mahometans. They took 
 no additional pleasure in the things of the natural 
 world because those things were made by a hand
 
 226 NOBODY. 
 
 that they loved. Poor people! and Lois knew 
 they were poor; and yet she said to herself, and 
 also truly, that the possession of her knowledge 
 would not be lessened by the possession of theirs. 
 And a little pensiveness mingled for a few days 
 with her enjoyment of Appledore. Meanwhile, 
 Mrs. Wishart was getting well. 
 
 " So they have all gone ! " she said, a day or two 
 after the Caruthers party had taken themselves 
 away. 
 
 "Yes, and Appledore seems, you can't think how 
 lonely," said Lois. She. had just come in from a 
 ramble. 
 
 " You saw a great deal of them, dear ? " 
 
 " Quite a good deal. Did you ever see such 
 bright pimpernel ? Isn't it lovely ? " 
 
 " I don't understand how Tom could get away." 
 
 " I believe he did not want to go." 
 
 " Why didn't you keep him ? " 
 
 " I ! " said Lois with an astonished start. "Why 
 should I keep him, Mrs. Wishart ? " 
 
 " Because he likes you so much." 
 
 " Does he ? " said Lois a little bitterly. 
 
 " Yes ! Don't you like him ? How do you like 
 him, Lois?" 
 
 " He is nice, Mrs. Wishart. But if you ask me, I 
 do not think he has enough strength of character." 
 
 " If Tom has let them carry him off against his 
 will, he is rather weak." 
 
 Lois made no answer. Had he ? and had they 
 done it? A vague notion of what might be the
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 227 
 
 truth of the whole transaction floated in and out 
 of her mind, and made her indignant. Whatever 
 one's private views of the danger may be, I think 
 no one likes to be taken care of in this fashion. 
 Of course, Tom Caruthers was and could be noth- 
 ing to her, Lois said to herself; and of course she 
 could be nothing to him; but that his friends 
 should fear the contrary and take measures to pre- 
 vent it, stirred her most disagreeably. Yes; if 
 things had gone so, then Tom certainly was weak; 
 and it vexed her that he should be weak. Very 
 inconsistent, when it would have occasioned her 
 so much trouble if he had been strong ! but when 
 is human nature consistent. Altogether this visit 
 to Appledore, the pleasure of which began so spi- 
 cily, left rather a flat taste upon her tongue ; and 
 she was vexed at that. 
 
 There was another person who probably thought 
 Tom weak, and who was curious to know how he 
 had come out of this trial of strength with his 
 relations; but Mr. Dillwyn had wandered off" to a 
 distance, and it was not till a month later that he 
 saw any of the, Caruthers. By that time they 
 were settled in their town quarters for the winter, 
 and there one evening he called upon them. He 
 found only Julia and her mother. 
 
 "By the way!" said he, when the talk had 
 rambled on for a while, " how did you get on 
 at the Isles of Shoals ? " 
 
 "We had an awful time," said Julia. 'You 
 cannot conceive of anything so B!O\V
 
 228 NOBODY. 
 
 " How long did you stay ? " 
 
 " O ages ! We were there four or five weeks. 
 Imagine, if you can. Nothing but sea and rocks, 
 and no company." 
 
 " No company ! What kept you there ? " 
 
 "0, Tom!" ' 
 
 " What kept Tom ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart got sick, you see, and couldn't 
 get away, poor soul! and that made her stay so 
 long." 
 
 "And you had to stay too, to nurse her?" 
 
 " No, nothing of that. Miss Lothrop was there, 
 and she did the nursing; and then a ridiculous 
 aunt of hers came to help her." 
 
 "You staid for sympathy." 
 
 " Don't be absurd, Philip ! You know we were 
 fcept by Tom. We could not get him away." 
 
 " What made Tom want to stay ? " 
 
 "0, that girl." 
 
 " How did you get him away at last?" 
 
 "Just because we stuck to him. No other way. 
 He would undoubtedly have made a fool of him- 
 self with that girl he was just ready to do it 
 but we never left him a chance. George and I, 
 and mother, we surrounded him," said Julia laugh- 
 ing; "we kept close by him; we never left them 
 alone. Tom got enough of *it at last, and agreed, 
 very melancholy, to come away. He is dreadfully 
 in the blues yet." 
 
 " You have a good deal' to answer for, Julia." 
 
 "Now don't, Philip! That's what George says.
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 229 
 
 ft is too absurd. Just because she has a pret- 
 ty face. All you men are bewitched by pretty 
 faces." 
 
 " She has a good manner, too." 
 
 "Manner? She has no manner at all; and she 
 don't know anything, out of her garden. We have 
 saved Tom from a great danger. It would be a 
 terrible thing, perfectly terrible, to have him marry 
 a girl who is not a lady, nor even an educated 
 woman." 
 
 "You think you could not have made a lady of 
 her?" 
 
 "Mamma, do hear Philip! isn't he too bad? 
 Just because that girl has a little beauty. I won- 
 der what there is in beauty ! it turns all your heads. 
 Mamma, do you hear Mr. Dillwyn ? he wishes we 
 had let Tom have his head and marry that littlo 
 gardening girl." 
 
 " Indeed I do not," said Philip seriously. " I am 
 very glad you succeeded in preventing it But al- 
 low me to ask if you are sure you have succeeded ? 
 Is it quite certain Tom will not have his head after 
 all ? He may cheat you yet." 
 
 " no ! He's very melancholy, but he has given 
 it up. If he don't, we'll take him abroad in the 
 spring. I think he has given it up. His being 
 melancholy looks like it." 
 
 " True. I'll souncl him when I get a chance." 
 
 The chance offered itself very soon; for Tom 
 came in, and when Dillwyn left the house, Tom 
 went to walk with him. They sauntered along
 
 230 NOBODY. 
 
 Fifth Avenue, which was pretty full of people still, 
 enjoying the mild air and beautiful starlight. 
 
 " Tom, what did you do at the Isles of Shoals ? 
 Mr. Dillwyn asked suddenly. 
 
 " DH a lot of fishing. Capital trolling." 
 
 " AU your fishing done on the high seas, eh ? n 
 
 " All my successful fishing." 
 
 "What was the matter? Not a faint heart?" 
 
 "No. It's disgusting, the whole thing!" Tom 
 broke out with hearty emphasis. 
 
 " You don't like to talk about it ? I'll spare you, 
 if you say so." 
 
 "I don't care what you do to me," said Tom; 
 "and I have no objection to talk about it to you." 
 
 Nevertheless he stopped. 
 
 " Have you changed your mind ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't change my mind, if I lived to be as 
 old as Methusaleh ! " 
 
 "That's right. Well then, the thing is going 
 on?" 
 
 " It isrit going on ! and I suppose it never will ! ' 
 
 "Had the lady any objection? I cannot believe 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know," said Tom with a big sigh. " I 
 almost think she hadn't; but I never could find 
 that out." 
 
 "What hindered you, old fellow?" 
 
 "My blessed relations. Julia and mother made 
 such a row. I wouldn't have minded the row nei- 
 ther; for a man must marry to please himself and 
 not his mother; and I believe no man ever yet
 
 TOM'S DECISION. 231 
 
 K 
 
 married to please his sister; but, Philip, they didn't 
 give me a minute. I could never join her anywhere, 
 but Julia would be round the next corner; or else 
 George would be there before me. George must 
 pnt his oar in ; and between them they kept it up." 
 
 " And you think she liked you ? " 
 
 Tom was silent a while. 
 
 " Well," said he at last, " I won't swear; for you 
 never know where a woman is till you've got her; 
 but if she didn't, all I have to say is, signs aren't 
 good for anything." 
 
 It was Philip now who was silent, for several 
 minutes. 
 
 " What's going to be the upshot of it? " 
 
 "O I suppose I shall go abroad with Julia and 
 George in the spring, and end by taking an ortho- 
 dox wife some day; somebody with blue blood, 
 and pretension, and nothing else. My people will 
 be happy, and the family name will be safe." 
 
 "And what will become of her?" 
 
 " she's all right. She won't break her heart 
 about me. She isn't that sort of girl," Tom Caru- 
 thers said gloomily. " Do you know, I admire her 
 immensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough 
 for anything. Maybe she's too good. That's what 
 her aunt hinted." 
 
 " Her aunt ! Who's she ? " 
 
 "She's a sort of a snapping turtle. . A good sort 
 of woman, too. -I took counsel with her, do you 
 know, when I found it was no use for me to try to 
 see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my
 
 232 NOBODY. 
 
 friend. She was as sharp as a fishhook, and about 
 as ugly a customer; and she as good as told me to 
 go about my business." 
 
 " Did she give reasons for such advice ? " 
 
 " O yes ! She saw through Julia and mother as 
 well as I did ; and she spoke as any friend of Lois 
 would, who had a little pride about her. I can't 
 blame her." 
 
 Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young 
 men walked the length of several blocks. Then 
 Mr. Dillwyn began again. 
 
 " Tom, there ought to be no more shilly shallying 
 about this matter." 
 
 "No more! Yes, you're right. I ought to have 
 settled it long ago, before Julia and mother got 
 hold of it. That's where I made a mistake." 
 
 "And you think it too late?" 
 
 Tom hesitated. " It's too late. I've lost my 
 time. She has given me up, and mother and Julia 
 have set their hearts that I should give her up. I 
 am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match 
 for a woman, do you think, Dillwyn, if she takes 
 something seriously in hand ? " 
 
 " Will you go to Europe next spring ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. I suppose so." 
 
 " If you do, perhaps I will join the party that is, 
 if you will all let me." 
 
 So the conversation went over into another 
 channel
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 
 
 I^WO or three evenings after this, Philip Dillwyn 
 was taking his way down the Avenue, not up 
 it. He followed it down to nearly its lower termi- 
 nation, and turned up into Clinton Place; where he 
 presently run up the steps of a respectable but 
 rather dingy house, rang the bell, and asked for 
 Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 The room where he awaited her was one of those 
 dismal places, a public parlour in a boarding-house 
 of second or third rank. Respectable, but forlorn. 
 Nothing was ragged, or untidy, but nothing either 
 had the least look of home comfort or home privacy. 
 As to home elegance, or luxury, the look of such a 
 room is enough to put it out of one's head that 
 there can be such things in the world. The ugly 
 ingrain carpet, the ungi^aceful frame of the small 
 glass in the pier, the abominable portraits on the 
 walls, the disagreeable paper with which they were 
 hung, tl^e hideous lamps on the mantelpiece; 
 wherever the eye looked it came back with uneasy 
 discomfort. Philip's eye came back to the fire; and 
 
 (233)
 
 234 NOBODY. 
 
 that was not pleasant to see ; for the fireplace was 
 not properly cared for, the coals were lifeless, and 
 evidently more economical than useful. Philip 
 looked very out of place in these surroundings. 
 No one could for a moment have supposed him to 
 be living among them. His thoroughly well- 
 dressed figure, the look ot easy refinement in his 
 face, the air of one who is his own master, so in- 
 imitable by one whose circumstances master him ; 
 all said plainly that Mr. Dillwyn was here only 
 on account of some one else. It could be no 
 home of his. 
 
 As little did it seem fitted to be the home of the 
 lady who presently entered. A tall, elegant, dig- 
 nified woman; in the simplest of dresses, indeed, 
 which probably bespoke scantiness of means, but 
 which could not at all disguise or injure the im- 
 pression of high breeding and refinement of man- 
 ners which her appearance immediately produced. 
 She was a little older than her visiter, yet not much ; 
 a woman in the prime of life she would have been, 
 had not life gone hard with her; and she had been 
 very handsome, though the regular features were 
 shadowed with sadness, and the eyes had wept too 
 many tears not to have suffered loss of their orig- 
 inal brightness. She had the slow, quiet manner 
 of one whose life is played out; whom the joys and 
 sorrows of the world have both swept over, like 
 great waves, and receding, have left the world a 
 barren strand for her; where the tide is never to 
 rise again. She was a sad-eyed woman who had
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 235 
 
 accepted her sadness, and could be quietly cheerful 
 on the surface of it. Always, at least, as far as good 
 breeding demanded. She welcomed Mr. Dillwyn 
 with a smile and evident genuine pleasure. 
 
 "How do I find you?" he said, sitting down. 
 
 "Quite well. Where have you been all summer? 
 I need not ask how you are." 
 
 "Useless things always thrive," he said. " I have 
 been wandering about among the mountains and 
 lakes in the northern part of Maine." 
 
 " That is very wild, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Therein lies its charm." 
 
 "There are not roads and hotels?" 
 
 "The roads the lumberers make. And I saw one 
 hotel, and did not want to see any more." 
 
 " How did you find your way ? " 
 
 " I had a guide an Indian, who could speak a 
 little English." 
 
 " No other company ? " 
 
 " Kifle and fishing-rod." 
 
 " Good work for them there, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Capital. Moose, and wild fowl, and fish, all of 
 best quality. I wished I could have sent you some." 
 
 " Thank you for thinking of me. I should have 
 liked the game, too." 
 
 " Are you comfortable here ? " he asked lowering 
 his voice. Just then the door opened ; a man's head 
 was put in, surveyed the two people in the room, 
 and after a second's deliberation disappeared again. 
 
 "You have not this room to yourself?" inquired 
 Dillwyn.
 
 23b NOBODY. 
 
 " no. It is public property." 
 
 " Then we may be interrupted ? '' 
 
 " At any minute. Do you want to talk to me, 
 4 unter vier augen ' ? " 
 
 " I want no more, certainly. Yes, I came to talk 
 to you; and I cannot, if people keep coming in." 
 A woman's head had now shewn itself for a mo 
 ment. " I suppose in half an hour there will be a 
 couple of old gentlemen here playing backgammon. 
 I see a board. Have you not a corner to yourself? " 
 
 " I have a corner," she said hesitating ; u but 
 it is only big enough to hold me. However, if you 
 will promise to make no remarks and to ' make be- 
 lieve,' as the children say, that the place is six times 
 as large as it is, I will, for once take you to it I 
 would take no one else." 
 
 "The honour will not outweigh the pleasure," 
 Baid Dillwyn as he rose. " But why must I put 
 such a force upon my imagination." 
 
 " I do not want you to pity me. Do you mind 
 going up two flights of stairs ? " 
 
 " I would not mind going to the top of St. Peter's ! " 
 
 "The prospect will be hardly like that." 
 
 She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the 
 top of them, in the third story, she opened the door 
 of a little end room, cut off the hall. Dillwyn waited 
 outside till she had found her box of matches and 
 lit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the 
 door. It was a little bit of a place indeed, about 
 six feet by twelve. A table, covered with books 
 and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 237 
 
 work basket, a trunk converted into a divan by a 
 cushion and chintz cover, and a rocking chair, about 
 filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs. 
 Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him." 
 
 " I should never dream of pitying the person who 
 can be contented here," he said. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 "The mental composition must be so admirable! 
 [ suppose you have another corner, where to sleep ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said smiling; "the other little room 
 like this at the other end of the hall. I preferred 
 this arrangement to having one larger room where 
 I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to 
 get rid of. Now tell me more about the forests 
 of Maine. I have always had a curiosity about 
 that portion of the country." 
 
 He did gratify her for a while ; told of his travels, 
 and camping out; and of his hunting and fishing; 
 and of the lovely scenery of the lakes and hills. 
 He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, 
 and he had explored the waters in ' birches,' and 
 he told of odd specimens of humanity he had found 
 on his way; but after a while of this talk Philip 
 came suddenly back to his starting point. 
 
 "Mrs. Barclay, you are not comfortable here!" 
 
 " As well as I can expect," she said in her quiet, 
 sad manner. The sadness was not obtrusive, not 
 on the surface; it was only the background to 
 everything. 
 
 " But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you 
 with pity, mind; but I am thinking. Would you'
 
 238 NOBOD\. 
 
 not like better to be in the country? in some pleas- 
 ant place ? " 
 
 " You do not call this a pleasant place ?" she said 
 with her faint smile. "Now I do. When I get up 
 here, and shut the door, I am my own mistress." 
 
 " Would you not like the country ? " 
 
 " It is out of my reach, Philip. I must do some- 
 thing, you know, to keep even this refuge." 
 
 " I think you said you would not be averse to 
 doing something in the line of giving instruction ?" 
 
 " If I had the right pupils. But there is no chance 
 of that. There are too many competitors. The city 
 is .overstocked." 
 
 "We were talking of the country." 
 
 "Yes, but it is still less possible in the country. 
 I could not find there the sort of teaching I could 
 do. All requisitions of that sort, people expect to 
 have met in the city; and they come to the city 
 for it." 
 
 " I do not speak with certainty," said Philip, 
 " but I think I know a place that would suit you. 
 Good air, pleasant country, comfortable quarters, 
 and moderate charges. And if you went tliere, 
 there is work." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "On the Connecticut shore far down the Souijd. 
 Not too far from New York, though; perfectly 
 accessible." 
 
 " Who lives there ? " 
 
 " It is a New England village, and you know 
 what those are. Broad grassy streets, and shad-
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 239 
 
 owy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the 
 sea not far off. Quiet, and good air, and people 
 with their intelligence alive. There is even a 
 library.' 
 
 " And among these comfortable inhabitants, who 
 would want to be troubled with me ? " 
 
 "I think I know. I think I know just the 
 house, where your coming would be a boon. They 
 are not very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I 
 am inclined to believe they would be glad to have 
 you." 
 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 " A household of women. The father and mother 
 are dead; the grandmother is there yet, and there 
 are three daughters. They are rejations of an old 
 friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in 
 the city. So I know something about them." 
 
 " Not the people themselves ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know the people, so far as one speci- 
 men goes. I fancy they are people you could get 
 along with." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at 
 the young man. His face revealed nothing, more 
 than a friendly solicitude. But he caught the look, 
 and broke out suddenly with a change of subject. 
 
 " How do you women get along without cigars? 
 What is your substitute ? " 
 
 " What does the cigar, to you, represent ? " 
 
 "Soothing and comforting of the nerves aids 
 to thought powerful helps to good humour 
 something to do "
 
 240 NOBODY. 
 
 " There ! now you have it. Philip you are talk- 
 ing nonsense. Your nerves are as steady and 
 sound as a granite mountain; you can think with- 
 out help of any extraneous kind; your good hu- 
 mour is quite as fair as most people's; but you 
 do want something* to do ! I cannot bear to have 
 you waste your life in smoke, be it never so 
 fragrant. " 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " 
 
 "Anything! so you were hard at work, and 
 doing work." 
 
 " There is nothing for me to do." 
 
 "That cannot b'e," said she, shaking her head. 
 
 " Propose something." 
 
 "You have no need to work for yourself," she 
 said; "so it must be for other people. Say politics." 
 
 " If ever there was anything carried on purely 
 for selfish interests, it is the business you name." 
 
 "The more need for some men to go into it not 
 tor self, but for the country." 
 
 "It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get 
 drawn in. And it is a dirty business. You know 
 the proverb about touching pitch." 
 
 " It need not be so, Philip." 
 
 " It brings one into disgusting contact and as- 
 sociations. My cigar is better." 
 
 " It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. 
 And Philip, it helps this habit of careless letting 
 everything go, which you have got into." 
 
 " I take care of myself, and of my money," he 
 said.
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 241 
 
 '' Men ought to live for more than to take care 
 of themselves." 
 
 " I was just trying to take care of somebody else, 
 and you head me off! You should encourage a 
 fellow better. One must make a beginning. And 
 I ivould like to be of use to somebody, if I could." 
 
 " Go on," she said with her faint smile again. 
 ' How do you propose that I shall meet the in- 
 creased expenditures of your Connecticut para- 
 dise." 
 
 "You would like it?" he said eagerly. 
 
 "I cannot tell! But if the people are as pleas- 
 ant as the place it would be a paradise. Still, I 
 cannot afford to live in paradise, I am afraid." 
 
 " You have only heard half my plan. It will 
 cost you nothing. You have heard only what you 
 are to get not what you are to give." 
 
 " Let me hear. What am I to give ? " 
 
 "The benefits of your knowledge of the world, 
 and knowledge of literature, and knowledge of 
 languages, to two persons who need and are with- 
 out them all." 
 
 " ' Two persons.' What sort of persons? " 
 
 "Two of the daughters I spoke of." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was silent a minute, looking at 
 him. 
 
 "Whose plan is this?" 
 
 "Your humble servant's. As I said, one must 
 make a beginning; and this is my beginning of an 
 attempt to do good in the world." 
 
 "How old are these two persons?"
 
 242 NOBODY. 
 
 "One of them, about eighteen, I judge. The 
 other, a year or two older." 
 
 " And they wish for such instruction ? " 
 
 "I believe they would welcome it. But they 
 know nothing about the plan and must not know," 
 he added very distinctly, meeting Mrs. Barclay's 
 eyes with praiseworthy steadiness. 
 
 " What makes you think they would be willing 
 to pay for my services, then? Or indeed, how 
 could they do it ? " 
 
 "They are not to do it. They are to know noth- 
 ing whatever about it. They are not able to pay 
 for any such advantages. Here comes in the 
 benevolence of my plan. You are to do it for me, 
 and I am to pay the worth of the work; which I 
 will do to the full. It will much more than meet 
 the cost of your stay in the house. You can lay 
 up money," he said smiling. 
 
 " Phil,'' said Mrs. Barclay, "what is back of this 
 very odd scheme ? " 
 
 " I do not know that anything beyond the good 
 done to two young girls, and the good done to 
 you." 
 
 "It is not that," she said. "This plan never 
 originated in your regard for my welfare solely." 
 
 " No. I had an eye to theirs also." 
 
 " Only to theirs and mine, Phil ? " she asked, 
 bending a keen look upon him. He laughed, and 
 changed his position, but did not answer. 
 
 "Philip, Philip, what is this?" 
 
 **You may call it a whim, a fancy, a notion. I
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 243* 
 
 do not know that anything will ever come of it. I 
 could wish there might but that is a very cloudy 
 and misty chateau en Espagne, and I do riot much 
 look at it. The present thing is practical. Will 
 you take the place, and do what you can for these 
 girls?" 
 
 " What ever put this thing in your head? " 
 " What matter ? if it is a good thing." 
 "I must know more about it. Who are these 
 people ? " 
 
 " Connections of Mrs. Wishart. Perfectly re 
 spectable." 
 
 " What are they, then ? " 
 
 " Country people. They belong, I suppose, to 
 the farming population of a New England village. 
 That is very good material." 
 
 "Certainly for some things. How do they 
 live? by keeping boarders?" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind! They live, I suppose, 
 I don't know how they live; and I do not care. 
 They live as farmers, I suppose. But they are 
 poor." 
 
 "And so, without education?" 
 " Which I am asking you to supply." 
 "Phil, you are interested in one of these girls? ' 
 " Didn't I tell you I was interested in both of 
 them? "he said laughing. And he rose now and 
 stood half leaning against the door of the littlo 
 room, looking down at Mrs. Barclay; and she re- 
 viewed him. He looked exactly like what he was; 
 a, refined and cultivated man of the world, with a
 
 244 NOBODY. 
 
 lively intelligence in full play, and every instinct 
 and habit of a gentleman. Mrs. Barclay looked at 
 him with a very grave face. 
 
 " Philip, this is a very crazy scheme ! " she said 
 after a minute or two of mutual consideration. 
 
 " I cannot prove it anything else," he said lightly. 
 "Time must do that." 
 
 " I do not think Time will do anything of the 
 kind. What Time does ordinarily, is to draw the 
 veil off the follies our passions and fancies have 
 covered up." 
 
 "True; and there is another work Time some- 
 times does. He sometimes draws forth a treasure 
 from, under the encumbering rubbish that hid it, 
 and lets it appear for the gold it is." 
 
 " Philip, you have never lost your heart to one 
 of these girls?" said Mrs. Barclay, with an expres- 
 sion of real and grave anxiety. 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 " But your words mean that." 
 
 "They are not intended to convey any such 
 meaning. Why should they?" 
 
 " Because if they do not mean that, your plan is 
 utterly wild and extravagant. And if they do " 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " Then, it would be far more wild and extrava- 
 gant. And deplorable." 
 
 "See there the inconsistency of you good peo- 
 ple!" said Mr. Dillwyn, still speaking lightly. "A 
 little while ago you were urging me to make my 
 self useful. I propose a way, in which I want your
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 245 
 
 cooperation, calculated to be highly beneficial in a 
 variety of ways, and I hit upon hindrances 
 directly." 
 
 " Philip, it isn't that. I cannot bear to think of 
 your marrying a woman unworthy of you." 
 
 "I still less!" he assured her with mock gravity. 
 
 " And that is what you are thinking of. A wo- 
 man without education, without breeding, without 
 knowledge of the world, without anything, that 
 could make her a fit companion for you. Philip, 
 give this up ! " 
 
 "Not my plan," said he cheerfully. "The rest 
 is all in your imagination. What you have to do, 
 if you will grant my prayer, is to make this little 
 country girl the exact opposite of all that. You 
 will do it, won't you ? " 
 
 " Where will you be ? " 
 
 " Not near, to trouble you. Probably in Europe. 
 I think of going with the Caruthers in the spring." 
 
 " What makes you think this girl wants, I mean, 
 desires, education ? " 
 
 " If she does not, then the fat's in the fire, that's 
 all." 
 
 "I did not know you were so romantic, before." 
 
 "Romantic! Could anything be more practical? 
 And I think it will be so good for you, in that sea 
 air." 
 
 " I would rather never smell the sea air, if this 
 is going to be for your damage. Does the girl 
 know you are an admirer of hers ? " 
 
 "She hardly knows I am in the world! yes,
 
 246 NOBODY. 
 
 she has seen me, and I have talked with her; by 
 which means I come to know that labour spent on 
 her will not be spent in vain. But of me she knows 
 nothing." 
 
 " After talking with you ! " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 " What else is she ? Handsome ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I had better let you judge of that. I 
 could never marry a mere pretty face, I think. 
 But there is a wonderful charm about this crea- 
 ture, which I do not yet understand. I have never 
 been able to find out what is the secret of it." 
 
 " A pretty face and a pink cheek ! " said Mrs. 
 Barclay with half a groan. "You are all alike, 
 you men ! Now we women Philip, is the thing 
 mutual already? Does she think of you as you 
 think of her?" 
 
 " She does not think of me at all," said he sitting 
 down again, and facing Mrs. Barclay with an 
 earnest face. " She hardly knows me. Her atten- 
 tion has been taken up, I fancy, with another 
 suitor." 
 
 "Another suitor! You are not going to be 
 Quixote enough to educate a wife for another 
 man ? " 
 
 " No," said he half laughing. " The other man 
 is out of the way, and makes no more pretension." 
 
 "Rejected? And how do you know all this so 
 accurately ? " 
 
 " Because he told me. Now have you done with 
 objections?" 
 
 "Philip, this is a very blind business! You
 
 MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. 247 
 
 may send me to this place, and I may do my best, 
 and you may spend your money, and at the end 
 of all, she may marry somebody else; or, which is 
 quite on the cards, you may get another fancy." 
 
 " Well," s^iid he, " suppose it. No harm will be 
 done. As 1 never had any fancy whatever before, 
 perhaps yorr second alternative is hardly likely. 
 The other I must risk and you must watch 
 against." 
 
 Mrs. Bare lay shook her head, but the end was. 
 she yielded.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 NEWS. 
 
 NOVEMBER had come. It was early in the morth 
 still ; yet, as often happens, the season was thor- 
 oughly defined already. Later, perhaps, some sweet 
 relics or reminders of October would come in, or 
 days of the soberer charm which October's succes- 
 sor often brings; but just now, a grey sky and a 
 brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it 
 banished all thought of such pleasant times. The 
 day was dark and gloomy. So the fire which 
 burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's 
 house shewed particularly bright, and its warm re- 
 flections were exceedingly welcome both to the eye 
 and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an open 
 chimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; 
 and I call the place the kitchen, for really a large 
 portion of the work of the kitchen was done there; 
 however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, 
 which accommodated most of the boilers and ket- 
 tles in use, while the room itself was used for all 
 the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was only upon 
 
 occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, 
 
 (248)
 
 NEWS. 241) 
 
 economy in fuel forbidding that two fares should be 
 all the while kept going. 
 
 In the sitting-room kitchen then, this November 
 afternoon, the whole family were assembled. The 
 place was as nice as a pin, and as neat as if no 
 work were ever done there. All the work of the 
 day indeed was over; and even Miss Chanty had 
 come to sit down with the rest, knitting in hand. 
 They had all changed their dress and put off their 
 big aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and 
 proper; only, it is needless to say, with no attempt 
 at a fashionable appearance. Their gowns were 
 calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the 
 white aprons they all wore were not fine nor orna- 
 mented. Only the old lady, who did no housework 
 any longer, was dressed in a stuff gown, and wore 
 an apron of black silk. Charity, as T said, was 
 knitting; so was her grandmother. Madge was 
 making more linen collars. Lois sat by her grand- 
 mother's chair, for the minute doing nothing. 
 
 "What do you expect to do for a bonnet, Lois?" 
 Charity broke the silence. 
 
 "Or I either?" put in Madge. "Or you yourself, 
 Charity? We are all in the same box." 
 
 " I wish our hats were ! " said the elder sister. 
 
 "I have not thought much about it," Lois an- 
 swered. " I suppose, if necessary, I shall wear my 
 straw." 
 
 " Then you'll have nothing to wear in the sum- 
 mer ! It's robbing Peter to pay Paul." 
 
 "Well," said Lois, smiling, "if Paul's turn
 
 250 NOBODY. 
 
 comes first. I cannot look so long ahead as next 
 summer." 
 
 "It'll be here before you can turn round," said 
 Charity, whose knitting needles flew without her 
 having any occasion to watch them. "And then, 
 straw is cold in winter." 
 
 " I can tie a comforter over my ears." 
 
 "That would look poverty-stricken." 
 
 " I suppose," said Madge slowly, " that is what 
 we are. It looks like it, just now." 
 
 " ' The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich ' " 
 Mrs. Armadale said. 
 
 "Yes, mother," said Charity; "but our cow died 
 because she was tethered carelessly." 
 
 " And our hay failed because there was no rain," 
 Madge added. "And our apples gave out because 
 they killed themselves with bearing last year." 
 
 "You forget, child it is the Lord 'that giveth 
 rain, both the former and the latter, in his season.'" 
 
 " But he didrit give it, mother ; that's what I'm 
 talking about; neither the former nor the latter; 
 though what that means, I'm sure I don't know; 
 we have it all the year round, most years." 
 
 "Then be contented, if a year comes when he 
 does not send it." 
 
 "Grandmother, it'll do for you to talk; but what 
 are we girls going to do without bonnets?" 
 
 " Do without " said Lois archly, with the gleam 
 of her eye and the arch of her pretty brow which 
 Used now and then to bewitch poor Tom Caruthers. 
 
 "We have hardly apples to make sauce of "
 
 NEWS. 251 
 
 Charity went on. " If it had been a good year, we 
 could have got our bonnets with our apples, nicely. 
 Now, I don't see where they are to come from." 
 
 " Don't wish for what the Lord don't send, child, 1 
 said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " mother ! that's a good deal to ask," cried 
 Charity. " It's very well for you, sitting in your 
 arm chair all the year round ; but we have to put 
 our heads out; and for one, I'd rather have some- 
 thing on them. Lois, haven't you got anything to 
 do, that you sit there with your hands in your 
 lap?" 
 
 "I am going to the post office," said Lois rising; 
 "the train's in. I heard the whistle." 
 
 The village street lay very empty, this brown 
 November day; and so, to Lois's fancy, lay the 
 prospect of the winter. Even so; brown and light- 
 less, with a chill nip in the air that dampened 
 rather than encouraged energy. She was young 
 and cheery tempered; but perhaps there was a 
 shimmer yet in her memory of the colours on 
 the Isles of Shoals; at any rate the village street 
 seemed dull to her and the day forbidding. She 
 walked fast, to stir her spirits. The country around 
 Shampuashuh is flat; never a hill or lofty object 
 of any kind rose upon her horizon to suggest wider 
 lookouts and higher standing points than her pres- 
 ent footing gave her. The best she could see was 
 a glimpse of the distant Connecticut, a little light 
 blue thread afar off; and I cannot tell why, what 
 she thought of when she saw it was Tom Caruthers.
 
 252 NOBODY. 
 
 I suppose Tom was associated in her mind with any 
 wider horizon than Shampuashuh street afforded. 
 Anyhow, Mr. Caruthers' handsome face came be- 
 fore her; and a little, a very little, breath of regret 
 escaped her, because it was a face she would see 
 no more. Yet why should she wish to see it, she 
 asked herself. Mr. Caruthers could be nothing to 
 her; he never could be anything to her; for he knew 
 not and cared not to know either the joys or the 
 obligations of religion, in which Lois's whole life 
 was bound up. However, though he could be noth- 
 ing to her, Lois had a woman's instinctive percep- 
 tion that she herself was, or had been, something 
 to him ; and that is an experience a simple girl does 
 not easily forget. She had a kindness for him, 
 and she was pretty sure he had more than a kind- 
 ness for her, or would have had, if his sister had 
 let him alone. Lois went back to her Appledore 
 experiences, revolving and studying them, and un- 
 derstanding them a little better now, she thought, 
 than at the time. At the time she had not under- 
 stood them at all. It was just as well ! she said to 
 herself. She could never have married him. But 
 why did his friends not want him to marry her? 
 She was in the depths of this problem when she 
 arrived at the post office. 
 
 The post office was in the further end of a grocery 
 store, or rather a store of varieties, such as country 
 villages find convenient. From behind a little lat- 
 tice the grocer's boy handed her a letter, with the 
 remark that she was in luck to-day. Lois recog-
 
 NEWS. 253 
 
 nized Mrs. \\ ishart's hand, and half questioned the 
 assertion. What was this ? a new invitation ? That 
 cannot be, thought Lois; I was with her so long 
 last winter, and now this summer again for weeks 
 and weeks And anyhow, I could not go if she 
 asked me. I could not even get a bonnet to go 
 in ; and I could not afford the money for the journey. 
 
 She hoped it was not an invitation. It is hard 
 to have the cup set to your lips, if you are not 
 to drink it ; any cup ; and a visit to Mrs. Wishart 
 was a very sweet cup to Lois. The letter filled her 
 thoughts all the way home ; and she took it to her 
 own room at once, to have the pleasure, or the pain, 
 mastered before she told of it to the rest of the 
 family. But in a very few minutes Lois came 
 flying down stairs, with light in her eyes and 
 a sudden colour in her cheeks. 
 
 "Girls, I've got some news for you!" she burst 
 in. 
 
 Charity dropped her knitting in her lap. Madge, 
 who was setting the table for tea, stood still with 
 a plate in her hand. All eyes were on Lois. 
 
 " Don't say news never comes ! We've got it 
 to-day." 
 
 "What? Who is the letter from?" said Charity. 
 
 "The letter is from Mrs. Wishart, but that does 
 not tell you anything." 
 
 " if it is from Mrs. Wishart, I suppose the news 
 only concerns you," said Madge, setting down her 
 plate. 
 
 "Mistaken!" cried Lois. "It concerns us aH.
 
 254 NOBODY. 
 
 Madge, don't go off. It is such a big piece of news 
 that I do not know how to begin to give it to you; 
 it seems as if every side of it was too big to take 
 hold of for a handle. Mother, listen, for it con- 
 cerns you specially." 
 
 " I hear, child." And Mrs. Armadale looked in 
 terested and curious. 
 
 " It's delightful to have you all looking like 
 that," said Lois, " and to know it's not for nothing. 
 You'll look more ' like that ' when I've told you 
 if ever I can begin." 
 
 " My dear, you are quite excited," said the old 
 lady. 
 
 "Yes, grandmother, a little. It's so seldom that 
 anything happens, here." 
 
 "The days are very good, when nothing hap- 
 pens, I think," said the old lady softly. 
 
 " And now something has really happened for 
 once. Prick up your ears, Chanty! Ah, I see 
 they are pricked up already," Lois went on merrily. 
 "Now listen. This letter is from Mrs. Wishart " 
 
 " She wants you again ! " cried Madge. 
 
 " Nothing of the sort. She asks " 
 
 " Why don't you read the letter ? " 
 
 " I will ; but I want to tell you first. She says 
 there is a certain friend of a friend of hers a very 
 nice person, a widow lady, who would like to live 
 in the country if she could find a good place ; and 
 Mrs. Wishart wants to know, if we would like to 
 have her in our house." 
 
 " To board ! " cried Madge.
 
 NEWS. 255 
 
 Lois nodded and watched the faces around her. 
 
 " We never did that before," said Madge. 
 
 "No. The question is, whether we will do it 
 now." 
 
 "Take her to board!" repeated Charity. "It 
 would be a great bother. What room would you 
 give her ? " 
 
 "Rooms. She wants two. One for a sitting- 
 room." 
 
 "Two! We couldn't, unless we gave her our 
 best parlour and had none for ourselves. Thai 
 wouldn't do." 
 
 " Unless she would pay for it " Lois suggested. 
 
 " How much would she pay ? Does Mrs. Wish- 
 art say ? " 
 
 "Guess, girls! She would pay twelve dollars 
 a week." 
 
 Charity almost jumped from her chair. Madge 
 stood leaning with her hands upon the table and 
 stared at her sister. Only the old grandmother 
 went on now quietly with her knitting. The words 
 were re-echoed by both sisters. 
 
 "Twelve dollars a week ! Fifty dollars a month ! " 
 cried Madge, and clapped l^gr hands. " We can 
 have bonnets, all round; and the hay and the 
 apples won't matter. Fifty dollars a month ! Why 
 Lois!" 
 
 " It would be an awful bother " said Chanty. 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart says not. At least she says this 
 lady this Mrs. Barclay is a delightful person, 
 and we shall like her so much we shall not mind
 
 256 NOBODY. 
 
 the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so 
 much trouble. And we do not use our parlour 
 much. I'll read you the letter now." 
 
 So she did; and then followed an eager talk. 
 
 " She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose 
 she will be contented with our ways of going on ? " 
 Charity queried. 
 
 " What ways do you mean ? " 
 
 "Well will our table suit her?" 
 
 " We can make it suit her," said Madge. " Just 
 think with fifty dollars a month " 
 
 " But we're not going to keep a cook," Charity 
 went on. " I won't do that. I can do dU the work 
 of the house, but I can't do half of it. And if I do 
 the cooking, I shall do it just as I have always 
 done it. I can't go to fussing. It'll be country 
 ways she'll be treated to ; and the question is, how 
 she'll like 'em." 
 
 " She can try," said Lois. 
 
 "And then, maybe she'll be somebody that'll 
 take airs." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Lois laughing; "but not likely. 
 What if she did, Charity? That would be her 
 affair." ^ 
 
 " It would be my affair to bear it," said Charity 
 grimly. 
 
 " Daughters," said Mrs. Armadale gently, " sup- 
 pose we have some tea." 
 
 This suggestion brought all to their bearings. 
 Madge set the table briskly, Charity made the tea, 
 Lois cut bread and made toast; and presently talk-
 
 NEWS. 25? 
 
 ing and eating went on in the harmonious com- 
 bination which is so agreeable. 
 
 " If she comes," said Lois, " there must be cur- 
 tains to the parlour windows. I can make some 
 of chintz, that will look pretty and not cost much. 
 And there must be a cover for the table." 
 
 "Why must there? The table is nice mahog- 
 any," said Charity. 
 
 "It looks cold and bare so. All tables in use 
 have covers, at Mrs. Wishart's." 
 
 " I don't see any sense in that. What's the good 
 of it?" 
 
 " Looks pretty and comfortable." 
 
 "That's nothing but a notion. I don't believe 
 in notions. You'll tell me next our steel forks 
 won't do." 
 
 "Well, I do tell you that. Certainly they 
 will not do, to a person always accustomed to 
 silver." 
 
 "That's nothing but uppishness, Lois. I can't 
 stand that sort of thing. Steel's just as good as 
 silver, only it don't cost so much; that's all." 
 
 " It don't taste as well." 
 
 " You don't need to eat your fork." 
 
 " No, but you have to touch your lips to it." 
 
 " How does that hurt yon, I want to know ? 
 
 " It hurts my taste," said Lois; "and so it is un- 
 comfortable. If Mrs. Barclay comes, I should cer- 
 tainly get some plated forks. Half a dozen would 
 not cost much." 
 
 " Mother," said Charity, " speak to Lois ! She's
 
 258 NOBODY. 
 
 getting right worldly, I think. Set her right, 
 mother!" 
 
 " It is something I don't understand," said the 
 old lady gravely. " Steel forks were good enough 
 for anybody in the land, when I was young. I 
 don't see, for my part, why they aint just as good 
 now." 
 
 Lois wisely left this question unanswered. 
 
 " But you think we ought to let this lady come, 
 mother, don't you?" 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Armadale, " I think it's a 
 providence ! " 
 
 "And it won't worry you, grandmother, will it?" 
 
 " I hope not. If she's agreeable, she may do us 
 good; and if she's disagreeable, we may do her 
 good." 
 
 "That's grandma all over!" exclaimed Charity; 
 " but if she's disagreeable, I'll tell you what, girls, 
 I'd rather scrub floors. Taint my vocation to do 
 ugly folks good." 
 
 " Charity," said Mrs. Armadale, " it is your voca- 
 tion. It is what everybody is called to do." 
 
 " It's what you've been trying to do to me all 
 my life, aint it?" said Charity laughing. "But 
 you've got to keep on, mother; it aint done yet. 
 But I declare ! there ought to be somebody in a 
 house who can .be disagreeable by spells, or the 
 rest of the world'd grow rampant."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 
 
 IT was in vain to try to talk of anything else ; the 
 conversation ran on that one subject all the 
 evening. Indeed there was a great deal to be 
 thought of and to be done, and it must of necessity 
 be talked of first. 
 
 " How soon does she want to come ? " Mrs. Arraa- 
 dale asked, meaning of course the new inmate 
 proposed for the house. 
 
 "Just as soon as we are ready for her; didn't 
 you hear what I read, grandmother? She wants 
 to get into the country air." 
 
 " A queer time to come into the country ! " said 
 Charity. "I thought city folks kept to the city 
 in winter. But it's good for us." 
 
 "We must get in some coal for the parlour," 
 remarked Madge. 
 
 "Yes; and who's going to make coal fires and 
 clean the grate and fetch boxes of coal ? " said 
 Charity. " I don't mind makin' a wood fire, and 
 keepin' it up; wood's clean; but coals I do hateil 
 
 There was general silence. 
 (259^
 
 260 NOBODY. 
 
 , " I'll do it," said Lois. 
 
 " I guess you will ! You look like it." 
 
 "Somebody must; and I may as well as anybody." 
 
 " You could get Tim Bodson to carry coal for 
 you," remarked Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "So we could; that's an excellent idea; and I 
 don't mind the rest at all," said Lois. " I like to 
 kindle fires. But maybe she'll want soft coal. I 
 think it is likely. Mrs. \Vishart never will burn 
 hard coal where she sits. And soft coal is easier 
 to manage." 
 
 " It's dirtier, though," said Charity. " I hope 
 she aint going to be a fanciful woman. I can't 
 get along with fancy folks. Then she'll be in a 
 fidget about her eating; and I can't stand that. 
 I'll cook for her, but she must take things as she 
 finds them. I can't have anything to do with 
 Tomfooleries." 
 
 "That means, custards?" said Lois laughing. 
 " I like custards myself. I'll take the Tomfoolery 
 part of the business, Charity." 
 
 " Will you ! " said Charity. " What else ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what else, girls. We must have 
 some new tablecloths, and some napkins." 
 
 " And we ought to have our bonnets before any- 
 body comes," added Madge. 
 
 " And I must make some covers and mats for 
 the dressing table and washstand in the best room," 
 said Lois. 
 
 " Covers and mats ! What for ? What ails the 
 things as they are ? They've got covers."
 
 bHAMPUASHUH. 261 
 
 "01 mean white covers. They make the room 
 look so much nicer." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Lois; you can't do everything 
 that rich folks do ; and it's no use to try. And you 
 may as well begin as you're goin' on. Where are 
 you going to get money for coal and bonnets and 
 tablecloths and napkins and curtains, before we 
 begin to have the board paid in ? " 
 
 " I have thought of that. Aunt Marx will 
 lend us some. It won't be much, the whole of 
 it." 
 
 " I hope we aren't buying a pig in a poke," said 
 Charity. 
 
 " Mother, do you think it will worry you to have 
 her?" Lois asked tenderly. 
 
 "No, child," said the old lady; "why should it 
 worry me ? " 
 
 So the thing was settled, and eager prepara- 
 tions immediately set on foot. Simple preparations, 
 which did not take much time. On her part Mrs. 
 Barclay had some to make, but hers were still 
 more quickly despatched ; so that before Novembei 
 had run all its thirty days, she had all ready foi 
 the move. Mr. Dillwyn went with her to the sta- 
 tion and put her into the car. They were early, 
 BO he took a seat beside her to bear her company 
 during the minutes of waiting. 
 
 " I would gladly have gone with you, to see you 
 safe there," he remarked; "but I thought it not 
 best, for several reasons." 
 
 " I should think so ! " Mrs. Barclay returned
 
 262 NOBODY. 
 
 drily. " Philip, I consider this the very craziest 
 scheme 1 ever had to do with ! " 
 
 " Precisely your being in it, redeems it from 
 that character." 
 
 " I do not think so. I am afraid you are pre- 
 paring trouble for yourself; but your heart cannot 
 be much in it yet ! " 
 
 " Don't swear that," he said. 
 
 "Well it cannot, surely. Love will grow on 
 scant fare, I acknowledge; but it must have a 
 little." 
 
 " It has had a little. But you are hardly to give 
 it that name yet. Say, a fancy." 
 
 " Sensible men do not do such things for a 
 fancy. Why, Philip, suppose I am able to do my 
 part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how 
 I am even to set about it I have at present no idea; 
 I cannot assume that these young women are ig- 
 norant, and say I have come to give them an 
 education ! But suppose I find a way, and suppose 
 .1 succeed; what then? You will be no nearer 
 your aim perhaps not so near." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he said carelessly. 
 
 " Phil, it's a very crazy business ! I wouldn't 
 go into it, only I am so selfish, and the plan is so 
 magnificent for me." 
 
 " That is enough to recommend it. Now I want 
 ycu to let me know, from time to time, what I 
 can send you that will either tend to your com- 
 fort, or help the work we have in view. Will 
 you?"
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 263 
 
 "But where are you going to be? I thought 
 you were going to Europe ? " 
 
 " Not till spring. I shall be in New York this 
 winter." 
 
 " But you will not come to what is the name 
 of the place where I am going ? " she asked 
 earnestly. 
 
 "No," said he smiling. "Shall I send you a 
 piano ? " 
 
 " A piano ! Is music intended to be in the pro- 
 gramme ? What should I do with a piano ? " 
 
 " That you would find out. But you are so fond 
 of music it would be a comfort, and I have no 
 doubt it would be a help." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, 
 under which lurked a little sparkle of amusement. 
 
 " Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea 
 to play? Or to sing? " 
 
 " The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely 
 inappropriate." 
 
 " Which is she, by the way ? There are three, 
 are there not. How am I to know the person in 
 whom 1 am to be interested ? " 
 
 " By the interest." 
 
 " That will do ! " said Mrs. Barclay laughing. 
 " But it is a very mad scheme, Philip ! a very mad 
 scheme. Here you have got me who ought to 
 be wiser into a plan for making, not history, but 
 romance. I do not approve of romance, and not 
 at all of making it." 
 
 "Thank you!'' said he, as he rose in obedience
 
 264 NOBODY. 
 
 to the warning stroke of the bell. " Do not be 
 romantic, but as practical as possible. I am. Good 
 bye ! Write me, won't you ? " 
 
 The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. 
 Barclay fell to meditating. The prospect before 
 her, she thought, was extremely misty and doubt- 
 ful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's 
 plan, nor the means he had chosen to attain it; 
 and yet, here she was, going to be his active 
 agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly 
 because she liked Philip, who had been a dear and 
 faithful friend of her husband; partly because, as 
 she said, the scheme offered such tempting advan- 
 tage to herself; but more than either, because she 
 knew that if Philip could not get her help he was 
 more than likely to find some other which would 
 not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thought 
 that her refusal to help him would have put an end 
 to the thing, she would undoubtedly have refused. 
 Now she pondered what she had undertaken to do, 
 and wondered what the end would be. Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn had been taken by a pretty face; that was 
 the old story; he retained wit enough to feel that 
 something more than a pretty face was necessary 
 therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her 
 mission failed ? Brains cannot be bought. Or sup- 
 pose even the brains were there, and her mission 
 succeeded? What then? How was the wooing 
 to be done ? However, one thing was certain ; Mr 
 Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing that de 
 Hands time. While he was waiting, he might
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 265 
 
 wear out his fancy, or get up a fancy for some 
 one else. Time was everything. 
 
 So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful 
 enjoyment of her journey, and amused watching of 
 her fellow-travellers, and observing of the country. 
 The country offered nothing very remarkable. Af- 
 ter the Sound was lost sight of, the road ran t pn 
 among farms and fields and villages; now and then 
 crossing a stream; with nothing specially pictur- 
 esque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back 
 to thoughts that led her far away, and forgot both 
 the fact of her travelling and the reason why. Till 
 the civil conductor said at her elbow " Here's your 
 place, ma'am Shampuashuh." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and 
 the conductor took her bag, and they went out. 
 The afternoons were short now, and the sun was 
 already down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat 
 station house, with a long platform extending along 
 the track, and a wide, level, green country. The 
 train puffed off again. A few people were taking 
 their way homewai'ds, on foot and in wagons; she 
 saw no cab or omnibus in waiting for the benefit 
 of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to 
 find some railway official and ask instructions, a 
 person came towards her; a woman, bundled up in 
 a shawl and carrying a horsewhip. 
 
 " Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay ? " she said un- 
 ceremoniously. " I have come after you." 
 
 " Thank you. And who is it that has come after 
 me?"
 
 266 NOBODY. 
 
 "You are going to the Lothrops' house, aint 
 you ? I thought so. It's all right. I'm their aunt. 
 You see, they haven't a team ; and I told 'em I'd 
 come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins 
 wouldn't be here. Is that your trunk ? Mr. Lifton, 
 won't you have the goodness to get this into my 
 buggy ? it's round at the other side. Now, will you 
 come ? " 
 
 This last to Mrs. Barclay. And following her 
 new friend, she and her baggage were presently 
 disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and the owner 
 of it got into her place and drove off. 
 
 The soft light shewed one of those peaceful-look- 
 ing landscapes which impress one immediately with 
 this feature in their character. A wide grassy street, 
 or road, in which carriages might take their choice 
 of tracks; a level open country wherever the eye 
 caught a sight of it; great shadowy elms at inter- 
 vals, giving an air of dignity and elegance to the 
 place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered 
 along on both sides, not too near each other for 
 privacy and independence. Cool fi-esh air, with a 
 savour in it of salt water; and stillness; stillness 
 that told of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. 
 One got a respect for the place involuntarily. 
 
 "They're lookin' for you, " the driving lady 
 began. 
 
 "Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day." 
 
 "They'll do all they can to make you comforta- 
 ble; and if there's anything you'd like, you've only 
 to tell 'em. That is, anything that can be had at
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 267 
 
 Shampuashuh ; for you see, we aint at New York ; 
 and the girls never took in a lodger before. But 
 they'll do what they can." 
 
 " I hope I shall not be very exacting." 
 
 " Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to 
 know it. That is! we don't have much of the 
 high flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castle- 
 town, and I'm quite willin' they should; but in 
 summer we have quite a sprinklin' of people that 
 want country and the sea; and they most of 'em 
 stay right along, from the beginning of the season 
 to the end of it. We don't often have 'em come in 
 November, though." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 "Though the winters here are pleasant," the 
 other went on. " I think they're first rate. You 
 see, we're so near the sea, we never have it very 
 cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The 
 worst we have here is in March; and if anybody is 
 particular about his head and his eyes, I'd advise 
 him to take 'em somewheres else; but dear me! 
 there's somethin' to be said about every place. I 
 do hear folks say, down in Florida is a regular 
 garden of Eden ; but I don' know ! seems to me I 
 wouldn't want to live on oranges all the year 
 round, and never see the snow. I'd rather have a 
 good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here we 
 are. Mr. Starks ! " addressing a man who was 
 going along the side way "hold on, will you? 
 here's a box to lift down won't you bear a 
 hand?"
 
 268 NOBODY. 
 
 This service was very willingly rendered, the 
 man not only lifting the heavy trunk out of the 
 vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs to ita 
 destination. The door of the house stood open. 
 Mrs. Barclay descended from the buggy, Mrs. 
 Marx kept her seat. 
 
 "Good bye," she said. "Go right in you'll find 
 somebody, and they'll take care of you." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up 
 the path of a few yards to the house. It was a 
 very seemly white house, quite large, with a porch 
 over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Bar- 
 clay went in, feeling herself on very doubtful 
 ground; then appeared a figure in the doorway 
 which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair 
 figure, with a grave, sweet, innocent charm, and 
 a manner which surprised the lady. Mrs. Barclay 
 looked, in a sort of fascination. 
 
 " We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. 
 "It is Mrs. Barclay, 1 suppose. The train was in 
 good time. Let me take your bag and I will 
 shew you right up to your room." 
 
 "Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who 
 are you ? " 
 
 " I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about 
 you. Now, here is your room; and here is your 
 trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks. What can I do 
 for you? Tea will be ready presently." 
 
 "You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought 
 I not to pay him for his trouble?" said Mrs. Barclay 
 looking after the retreating Starks.
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 269 
 
 " Pay ? no ! " said Lois smiling. " Mr Starks 
 does not want pay. He is very well off indeed; 
 has a farm of his own and makes it valuable." 
 
 " He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. 
 Is it a general characteristic of Shampuashuh ? " 
 
 " I rather think it is," said Lois. " When you 
 come down, Mrs. Barclay, I will shew you your 
 other room." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked 
 about her in a maze. The room was extremely 
 neat and pleasant, with its white naperies and old- 
 fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the 
 place was pleasant. But the girl ! Oh Philip, 
 Philip ! thought Mrs. Barclay, have you lost your 
 heart here ! and what ever will come of it all ? I 
 can understand it; but what will come of it! 
 
 Down stairs Lois met her again and took her 
 into the room arranged for her sitting-room. It 
 was not a New York drawing room; but many 
 gorgeous drawing rooms would fail before a com- 
 parison with it. Warm-coloured chintz curtains; 
 the carpet neither fine nor handsome indeed, but 
 of a hue which did not clash violently with the 
 hue of the draperies; plain, dark furniture; and a 
 blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed, 
 
 " Delightful ! delightful ! Is this my room, 
 did you say? It is quite charming. I am afraid I 
 am putting you to great inconvenience ? " 
 
 " The convenience is much greater than the in- 
 convenience," said Lois simply. " I hope we may 
 be able to make you comfortable; but my sisters
 
 270 NOBODY. 
 
 are afraid you will not like our country way of 
 living." 
 
 " Are you the housekeeper ? " 
 
 " No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again ; 
 "I am the gardener and the out-of-doors woman 
 generally ; the mau of business of the house." 
 
 " That is a rather hard place for a woman to till 
 sometimes." 
 
 "It is easy here, and where people have so little 
 out-of-door business as we have." 
 
 She arranged the fire and shut the shutters :f 
 the windows; Mrs. Barclay watching and admir- 
 ing her as she did so. It was a pretty figure, 
 though in a calico and white apron. The manner 
 of quiet self-possession and simplicity left nothing 
 to be desired. And the face, but what was it in 
 the face, which so struck Mrs. Barclay ? It was 
 not the fair features; they ivere fair, but she had 
 seen others as fair, a thousand times before. This 
 charm was something she had nerer seen before iir' 
 all her life. There was a gravity, that had no con- 
 nection with shadows, nor even suggested them; 
 a curious loftiness of mien, which had nothing to 
 do with external position or internal consciousness; 
 and a purity, which was like the grave purity of a 
 child, without the child's want of knowledge or 
 immaturity of mental power. Mrs. Barclay was 
 attracted, and curious. At the same time, the 
 dress and the apron were of a style well, of no 
 style ; the plainest attire of a plain country girl. 
 
 " I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois
 
 SHAMPUASHUII. 271 
 
 "Or would you like to come out at once, and see 
 the rest of the family ? " 
 
 " By all means ! let me go with you," Mrs. Bar- 
 clay answered ; and Lois opened a door and ushered 
 her at once into the common room of the family. 
 Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking 
 chair. 
 
 " This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and 
 Mrs. Barclay came up. 
 
 "How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. 
 " I am pleased to see you." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her 
 greetings, and surveyed the room. It was very 
 cheerful and home-looking, with its fire shine, and 
 the table comfortably spread in the middle of the 
 floor, and various little tokens of domestic occu- 
 pation. 
 
 " How pleasant this fire is ! " she remarked. 
 " Wood is so sweet ! " 
 
 "It's better than the fire in the parlour," said 
 Mrs. Armadale; "but that room has only a grate." 
 
 " I will never complain, as long as I have soft 
 coal," returned the new guest; "but there is an 
 uncommon charm to me in a wood fire." 
 
 " You don't get it often in New York, Lois says." 
 
 " Miss Lois has been to the great city then ? " 
 
 " Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wish- 
 art, likes to have her, and Lois was there quite a 
 spell last winter; but I expect that's the end of it 
 I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life." 
 
 44 Why should she ? "
 
 272 NOBODY. 
 
 " Here's where her work is," said the old lady ; 
 "and one is best where- one's work is." 
 
 "But her work might be elsewhere? She'll 
 marry some day. If I were a man, I think I 
 should fall in love with her." 
 
 " She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Arma- 
 dale, with a fine smile. 
 
 "No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the 
 smile; "but you know, girls' hearts are not to be 
 depended on. They do run away with them, when 
 the right person comes." 
 
 " My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old 
 lady, with a sort of tender confidence that was 
 impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay's 
 thoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then 
 the door opened and Lois, who had left the room, 
 came in again followed by one of her sisters bear- 
 ing a plate of butter. 
 
 " Another beauty ! " thought Mrs. Barclay as 
 Madge was presented to her. " Which is which, 
 I wonder? " This was a beauty of quite another sort 
 Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft un- 
 der long lashes, a white brow and a very handsome 
 mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband in her 
 black hair, while Lois's red brown masses were soft 
 and fluffy and unadorned. Madge's face lacked 
 the loftiness, if it had the quietness, of the other; 
 and it had not that innocent dignity which seemed 
 to Mrs. Barclay's fancy to set Lois apart from 
 the rest of young women. Yet most men would 
 admire Madge most, she thought. Philip, Philip
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 273 
 
 she said to herself, what sort of a mess have you 
 brought me into ! This is no common romance 
 you have induced me to put my fingers in. These 
 girls ! 
 
 But then entered a third, of a different type, 
 and Mrs. Barclay felt some amusement at the 
 variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, 
 like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was 
 not, as I have said, a handsome old woman. She 
 had never been a handsome young one; bony, 
 angular, strong, not gracious; although the expres- 
 sion of calm sense, and character, and the hand- 
 writing of life work, and the dignity of mental 
 calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a per- 
 son worth looking at. Charity was much younger, 
 of course; but she had the plainness without the 
 dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was not wanting. 
 
 The supper was ready, and they all sat down. 
 The meal was excellent; but at first very silently 
 enjoyed. Save the words of anxious hospitality, 
 there were none spoken. The quicker I get ac- 
 quainted, the better, thought Mrs. Barclay. So 
 she began. 
 
 " Your village looks to me like a quiet place." 
 
 " That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " Especially in winter, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," 
 the old lady went on. "They've got a hotel now 
 for strangers, down at the Point but that aint 
 the village." 
 
 " And the hotel is empty now," added Lois.
 
 274 NOBODY. 
 
 " What does the village do, to amuse itself, in 
 these quiet winter days and nights ? " 
 
 " Nothing " said Charity. 
 
 " Really ? Are there no amusements ? I never 
 heard of such a place." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by amusements," 
 Mrs. Armadale took up the subject. "I think, doin' 
 one s work is the best amusement there is. I never 
 wanted no other." 
 
 "Does the old proverb not hold good then in 
 Shampuashuh, of ' All work and no play ' you 
 know ? The consequences are said to be dis- 
 astrous." 
 
 " No," said Lois laughing, " it does not hold 
 good. People are not dull here. I don't mean 
 that they are very lively; but they are not dull." 
 
 " Is there a library here ? " 
 
 "A sort of one; not large. Books that some of 
 the people subscribe for, and pass round to each 
 others' houses." 
 
 " Then it is not much of a reading community ? " 
 
 " Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 "There's a good many books in the village, take 
 'em all together. I guess the folks have as much 
 as they can do to read what they've got, and don't 
 stand in need of no more." 
 
 " Well, are people any happier for living in such 
 a quiet way ? Are they sheltered in any degree 
 from the storms that come upon the rest of the 
 world? Ho\v is it? As I drove along from the 
 station to-night, I thought it looked like a ha-
 
 SHAMPUASHUH. 275 
 
 ven of peace, where people could not have heart- 
 breaks." 
 
 "I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," 
 the old lady said solemnly. 
 
 The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it 
 in a sort took Mrs. Barclay's breath away. She 
 merely said " Thank you ! " and let the talk drop.
 
 OIUPTER XXI. 
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 
 
 MRS. BARCLAY found her room pleasant, hei 
 bed excellent, and all the arrangements and 
 appointments simple indeed but quite sufficient. 
 The next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glit- 
 tering in the elm trees, and on the greensward 
 which filled large spaces in the street, and on 
 chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the 
 Connecticut river which was visible in the dis- 
 tance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and 
 at the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. 
 Barclay dressed and went down ; and there she found 
 her parlour in order, the sunlight streaming in, and 
 a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her. 
 
 "This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her 
 place in a comfortable rocking-chair before the fire. 
 " But how am I to get at my work ! " Presently 
 Lois came in, looking like a young rose. 
 
 " I beg pardon ! " she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay 
 " but I left my duster " 
 
 Has she been putting my room in order ! thought 
 
 the lady. This elegant creature ? But she shewed 
 
 (276
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 277 
 
 nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if she were 
 busy ? 
 
 "No," said Lois with a smile; "I have done. Do 
 you want something of me?" 
 
 "Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get 
 acquainted." 
 
 Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleas 
 antly ready. 
 
 " I am afraid I am giving you a great deal ol 
 trouble ! If you get tired of me, you must just let 
 me know. Will you ? " 
 
 " There is no fear," Lois assured her. " We are 
 very glad to have you. If only you do not get 
 tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after what you 
 have been accustomed to." 
 
 "Just what I want! I have been longing for 
 the country; and the air here is delicious. I can 
 riot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up the salt 
 smell. And you have made me so comfortable ! 
 How lovely those old elms are over the wa^. 1 
 could hardly get dressed, for looking at them. Do 
 you draw?" 
 
 "I? no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, 
 of course, but I have learned only common things. 
 I do not know anything about drawing." 
 
 " Perhaps you will let me teach you." 
 
 The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made 
 no answer at first, and then murmured, " You are 
 very kind ! " 
 
 " One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar- 
 clay said. " I cannot let all your goodness make
 
 278 NOBODY. 
 
 me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; it has 
 whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it- 
 enables one to keep a record of pretty and pleasant 
 things, wherever one goes." 
 
 "We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; 
 " but I should think that would be delightful for 
 the people who travel." 
 
 " You will travel some day." 
 
 " No, there is no hope of that." 
 
 "You would like it, then?" 
 
 "0 who would not like it! I went with Mrs. 
 Wishart to the Isles of Shoals last summer 1 ; and it 
 was the first time I began to have a notion what a 
 place the world is." 
 
 " And what a place do you think it is ? " 
 
 " so wonderfully full of beautiful things so 
 full ! so full ! and of such different beautiful things. 
 I had only known Shampuashuh and the Sound 
 and New York; and Appledore was like a new 
 world." Lois spoke with a kind of inner fire, which 
 sparkled in her eyes and gave accent to her words. 
 
 " What was the charm ? I do not know Apple- 
 dore," said Mrs. Barclay carelessly, but watching 
 her. 
 
 " It is difficult to put some things in words. I 
 seemed to be out of the world of everyday life, and 
 surrounded by what was pure and fresh and power- 
 ful and beautiful it all comes back to me now, 
 when I think of the surf breaking on the rocks and 
 the lights and colours, and the feeling of the air." 
 
 "But how were the people? were they uncommon
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 279 
 
 too ? Part of one's impression is apt to come from 
 the human side of the thing." 
 
 " Mine did not. The people of the Islands are 
 queer, rough people, almost as strange as all the 
 rest; but I saw more of some city people staying 
 at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at 
 all." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to 
 see what I saw, unless they were told of it; nor 
 then either." 
 
 "Well, you must come in and let me teach you 
 to draw," said Mrs. Barclay. " I shall want to feel 
 that I have so'me occupation, or I shall not be 
 happy. Perhaps your sister will come too." 
 
 "Madge? thank you! how kind of you! 1 
 do not know whether Madge ever thought of such 
 a thing." 
 
 " You are the man of business of the house. What 
 is she?" 
 
 "Madge is the dairy woman, and the sempstress. 
 But we all do that." 
 
 "You are fond of reading? I have brought a 
 few books with me, which I hope you will use 
 freely. I shall unpack them by and by." 
 
 "That will be delightful," Lois said with a bright 
 expression of pleasure. "We have not subscribed 
 to the library, because we felt we could hardly spare 
 the money." 
 
 They were called to breakfast ; and Mrs. Barclay 
 studied again with fresh interest all the familv group
 
 280 NOBODY. 
 
 No want of capacity and receptive readiness, she 
 was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, and self-re- 
 liance, and independence, and quick intelligence, 
 were to be read in the face and manner of each one; 
 good ground to work upon. Still Mrs. Barclay pri- 
 vately shook her head at her task. 
 
 " Miss Madge," she said suddenly, " I have been 
 proposing to teach your sister to draw. Would you 
 like to join her?" 
 
 Madge seemed too much astonished to answei 
 immediately. Charity spoke up and asked, "To 
 draw what?" 
 
 " Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places." 
 
 " I don't see what's the use. When you've got a 
 pretty thing, what should you draw it for?" 
 
 "Suppose you have not got it." 
 
 " Then you can't draw it," said Charity. 
 
 "0 Charity, you don't understand," cried Lois. 
 " If I had known how to draw, I could have brought 
 vou home pictures of the Isles of Shoals last summer." 
 
 "They wouldn't have been like." 
 
 Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that 
 was rather begging the question. 
 
 " What question ? " said Charity. 
 
 "I mean, you are assuming a thing without 
 .. %ridence." 
 
 " It don't need evidence," said Charity. " I never 
 saw a picture yet that was worth a red cent. It's 
 only a make-believe." 
 
 "Then you will not join our drawing class, Misa 
 Charity?"
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 281 
 
 "No; and I should think Madge had better stick 
 to her sewing. There's plenty to do." 
 
 " Duty comes first," said the old lady ; " and I 
 shouldn't think duty would leave much time for 
 making marks on paper." 
 
 The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast 
 was to unpack some of her books and get out her 
 writing box; and then the impulse seized her to write 
 to Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 " I had meant to wait," she wrote him, " and not 
 say anything to you until I had had more time for 
 observation ; but I have seen so much already that 
 my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must 
 relieve myself by talking to you. Which of these 
 ladies is the one? Is it the black-haired beauty, 
 with her white forehead and clean-cut features? 
 she is very handsome ! But the other, I confess, is 
 my favourite; she is less handsome, but more lovely. 
 Yes, she is lovely; and both of them have capacity 
 and cleverness. But Philip, they belong to the 
 strictly religious sort; I see that; the old grand- 
 mother is a regular Puritan, and the girls follow 
 her lead; and I am in a confused state of mind 
 thinking what can ever be the end of it all. What 
 ever would you do with such a wife, Philip Dil- 
 lwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; at 
 least you know /think well of you; but you are not 
 a Puritan, and this little girl is. I do not mean to 
 say anything against her; only, you want me to 
 make a woman of the world out of the girl and I 
 doubt much whether I shall be able. There is
 
 282 NOBODY. 
 
 strength in the whole family; it is a characteristic 
 of them ; a capital trait, of course, but in certain 
 cases interfering with any effort to mould or bend 
 the material to which it belongs. What would you 
 do, Philip, with a wife who would disapprove of 
 worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldly 
 plans, and insist on bringing all questions to the 
 bar of the Bible? I have indeed heard no dis- 
 tinctively religious conversation here yet; but I 
 cannot be mistaken ; I see what they are ; I know 
 what they will say when they open their lips. I 
 feel as if I were a swindler, taking your money on 
 false pretences; setting about an enterprise which 
 may succeed, possibly, but would succeed little to 
 your advantage. Think better of it and give it up! 
 I am unselfish in saying that; for the people please 
 me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be very 
 agreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry 
 them, and so there is no violent forcing of incon- 
 gruities into union and fellowship. Phil, you can- 
 not marry a Puritan." 
 
 How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of 
 higher education in this farmhouse, she did not 
 clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; 
 but how was she to propose teaching languages, or 
 suggest algebra, or insist upon history? She must 
 wait, and feel her way; and in the mean time she 
 scattered books about her room, books chosen with 
 some care, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to 
 catch her fish. Meanwhile she made herself very 
 agreeable in the family: and that without any par-
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 283 
 
 tieular exertion, which she rightly judged would 
 hinder and not help her object. 
 
 " Isn't she pleasant ? " said Lois, one evening 
 when the family were alone. 
 
 " She's elegant ! " said Madge. 
 
 " She has plenty to say for herself," added Charity. 
 
 ** But she don't look like a happy woman, Lois," 
 Madge went on. " Her face is regularly sad, when 
 she aint talking." 
 
 " But it's sweet when she is." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, girls," said Charity, "she's 
 a real proud woman." 
 
 " Charity ! nothing of the sort," cried Lois. 
 " She is as kind as she can be." 
 
 " Who said she wasn't ? I said she was proud, 
 and she is. She's a right, for all I know; she aint 
 like our Shampuashuh people." 
 
 " She is a lady," said Lois. 
 
 "What do you mean by that, Lois?" Madge 
 fired up. " You don't mean, I hope, that the rest 
 of us are not ladies, do you ? " 
 
 " Not like her." 
 
 "Well, why should we be like her?" 
 
 "Because her ways are so beautiful. I should 
 be glad to be like her. She is just what you 
 called her ^elegant." 
 
 "Everybody has their own ways," said Madge. 
 
 " I hope none of you will be like her," said Mrs. 
 Arraadale gravely; "for she's a woman of the 
 world, and knows the world's ways, and she knows 
 nothin' else, poor thing ! "
 
 284 NOBODY. 
 
 " But grandmother," Lois put in, " some of the 
 world's ways are good." 
 
 "Be they?" said the old lady. "I don' know 
 which of 'em." 
 
 " Well grandmother, this way of beautiful man 
 ners. They don't all have it I don't mean that 
 but some of them do. They seem to know exactly 
 how to behave to everybody, and always what to 
 do or to say ; and you can see Mrs. Barclay is one 
 of those. And I like those people. There is a 
 charm about them." 
 
 " Don't you always know what's right to do or 
 say, with the Bible before you ? " 
 
 "0 grandmother, but I mean in little things; 
 little words and ways, and tones of voice even. 
 It isn't like Shampuashuh people." 
 
 " Well, icere Shampuashuh folks," said Charity. 
 "I hope you won't set up for nothin' else, Lois. 
 I guess your head got turned a bit, with goin' 
 round the world. But I wish I knew what makes 
 her look so sober ! " 
 
 " She has lost her husband." 
 
 "Other folks have lost their husbands, and a 
 good many of 'em have found another. Don't be 
 ridiculous, Lois ! " 
 
 The first bait that took, in the shape of books, 
 was Scott's Lady of the Lake. Lois opened it one 
 day, was caught, begged to be allowed to read it; 
 and from that time had it in her hand whenever 
 her hand was free to hold it. She read it aloud, 
 sometimes, to her grandmother, who listened with
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 285 
 
 a half shake of her head, but allowed it was pretty. 
 Charity was less easy to bribe with sweet sounds. 
 
 "What on earth is the use o' that?" she de- 
 manded one day, when she had stood still for ten 
 minutes in her way through the room, to hear the 
 account of Fitz James's adventure in the wood 
 with Roderick Dhu. 
 
 " Don't you like it ? " said Lois. 
 
 " Don't make head or tail of it. And there sits 
 Madge with her mouth open, as if it was something 
 to eat; and Lois's cheeks are as pink as if she ex- 
 pected the people to step out and walk in. Mother, 
 do you like all that stuff ? " 
 
 " It is poetry, Charity," cried Lois. 
 
 "What's the use o' poetry? can you tell me? 
 It seems to me nonsense for a man to write in 
 that way. If he has got something to say, why 
 don't he say it, and be done with it? " 
 
 " He does say it, in a most beautiful way." 
 
 " It'd be a queer way of doing business ! " 
 
 "It is not business," said Lois laughing. "Char- 
 ity will you not understand? It is poetry. 1 ' 
 
 " What is poetry ? " 
 
 But alas ! Charity had asked what nobody could 
 answer, and she had the field in triumph. 
 
 " It is just a jingle jangle, and what I call non- 
 sense. Mother, aint that what you would say is 
 a waste of time ? " 
 
 " I don't know, my dear," said Mrs. Armadale 
 doubtfully, applying her knitting-needle to the 
 back of her ear.
 
 286 NOBODY. 
 
 " It isn't nonsense; it is delightful 1 " said Madge 
 indignantly. 
 
 " You want me to go on, grandmother, don't 
 you?" said Lois. "We want to know about the 
 fight, when the two get to Coilantogle ford." 
 
 And as she was not forbidden, she went on; 
 while Charity got the spice box she had come 
 for and left the room superior. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake was read through. Mrs. 
 Barclay had hoped to draw on some historical 
 inquiries by means of it; but before she could 
 find a chance, Lois took up Greville's Memoirs 
 This she read to herself; and not many pages 
 before she came with the book and a puzzled face 
 to Mrs. Barclay's room. Mrs. Barclay was, we 
 may say, a fisher lying in wait for a bite; now 
 she saw she had got one; the thing was to haul 
 in the line warily and skilfully. She broke up a 
 piece of coal on the fire, and gave her visiter an 
 easy chair. 
 
 " Sit there, my dear. I am very glad of your com- 
 pany. What have you in your hand? Greville?" 
 
 "Yes. I want to ask you about some things, 
 ^m I not disturbing you?" 
 
 "Most agreeably. I can have nothing better 
 to do than to talk with you. What is the 
 question ? " 
 
 " There are several questions. It seems to me a 
 very strange book ! " 
 
 " Perhaps it is. But why do you say so ? " 
 
 "Perhaps I should rather say that the people
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 287 
 
 are strange. Is this what the highest society in 
 England is like ? " 
 
 " In what particulars, do you mean ? " 
 
 "Why I think Shampuashuh is better. I am 
 sure Shampuashuh would be ashamed of such 
 doings." 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" Mrs. Barclay 
 asked, carefully repressing a smile. 
 
 " Why here are people with every advantage, 
 with money and with education and with the 
 power of place and rank, living for nothing but 
 mere amusement, and very poor amusement too." 
 
 "The conversations alluded to were very often 
 not poor amusment. Some of the society were 
 very brilliant and very experienced men." 
 
 " But they did nothing with their lives." 
 
 "How does that appear?" 
 
 " Here at the Duke of York's," said Lois turning 
 over her leaves; " they sat up till four in the morn- 
 ing playing whist; and on Sunday they amused 
 themselves shooting pistols and eating fruit in the 
 garden, and playing with the monkeys! That is 
 like children." 
 
 " My dear, half the world do nothing with their 
 lives, as you phrase it." 
 
 " But they ought. And you expect it of people 
 in high places, and having all sorts of advantages." 
 
 " You expect then what you do not find." 
 
 "And is all of what is called the great world, no 
 better than that ? " 
 
 "Some of it is better." (0 Philip, Philip, where
 
 288 NOBODY. 
 
 are you? thought Mrs. Barclay.) "They do not all 
 play whist all night. But you know, Lois, people 
 come together to be amused; and it is not every- 
 body that can talk, or act, sensibly for a long 
 stretch." 
 
 " How can they play cards all night? " 
 
 " Whist is very ensnaring. And the little excite- 
 ment of stakes draws people on." 
 
 "Stakes?" said Lois inquiringly. 
 
 "Sums staked on the game." 
 
 " Oh ! But that is worse than foolish." 
 
 " It is to keep the game from growing tiresome. 
 Do you see any harm in it?" 
 
 " Why that's gambling." 
 
 " In a small way." 
 
 " Is it always in a small way ? " 
 
 " People do not generally play very high at whist.' 
 
 " It is all the same thing," said Lois. " People 
 begin with a little, and then a little will not satisfy 
 them." 
 
 " True ; but one must take the world as one finds 
 it." 
 
 "Is the New York world like this?" said Lois 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 " No ! Not in the coarseness you find Mr. Gre- 
 ville tells of. In the matter of pleasure-seeking, I 
 am afraid times and places are much alike. Those 
 who live for pleasure, are driven to seek it in all 
 manner of ways. The ways sometimes vary; the 
 principle does not." 
 
 "And do all the men gamble?"
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 289 
 
 * No. Many do not touch cards. My friend, Mr 
 Dillwyn, for example." 
 
 "Mr. Dillwyn? Do you know him?" 
 
 " Very well. He was a dear friend of my hus- 
 band, and has been a faithful friend to me. Do you 
 know him?" 
 
 " A little. I have seen him." 
 
 " You must not expect too much from the world, 
 my dear." 
 
 "According to what you say, one must not ex- 
 pect anythiny from it." 
 
 "That is too severe." 
 
 " No," said Lois. " What is there to admire or 
 respect in a person who lives only for pleasure?" 
 
 "Sometimes there are fine qualities, and brilliant 
 parts, and noble powers." 
 
 "Ah, that makes it only worse!" cried Lois. 
 " Fine qualities, and brilliant parts, and noble powers, 
 all used for nothing ! That is miserable; and when 
 there is so much to do in the world, too." 
 
 " Of what kind ? " asked Mrs. .Barclay, curious to 
 know her companion's course of thought. 
 
 " 0, help." 
 
 "What sort of help?" 
 
 " Almost all sorts," said Lois. " You must know 
 even better than I. Don't you see a great many 
 people in New York that are in want of some sort 
 of help ? " 
 
 "Yes; but it is not always easy to give, even 
 where the need is greatest. People's troubles come 
 largely from their follies."
 
 290 NOBODY. 
 
 **Or from other people's follies." 
 
 "That is true. But how would you help, Lois?" 
 
 " Where there's a will, there's a way, Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " You are thinking of help to the poor ? There 
 is a great deal of that done." 
 
 "I am thinking of poverty, and sickness, and 
 weakness, and ignorance, and injustice. And &. 
 grand man could do a great deal. But not if he, 
 lived like the creatures in this book. I never saw 
 such a book ! " 
 
 " But we must take men as we find them ; and 
 most men are busy seeking their own happiness. 
 You cannot blame them for that It is human 
 nature." 
 
 " I blame them for seeking it so. And it is not 
 happiness that people play whist for till four o'clock 
 in the morning." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " Forgetfulness, I should think ; distraction ; be- 
 cause they do not know anything about hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " Who does?" said Mrs. Barclay sadly. 
 
 Lois was silent, not because she had not some- 
 thing to say, but because she was not certain how 
 best to say it. There was no doubt in her sweet 
 face, rather a grave assurance which stimulated 
 Mrs. Barclay's curiosity. 
 
 "We must take people as we find them," she re- 
 peated. "You cannot expect men who live for 
 pleasure to give up their search for the sake of other 
 people's pleasure."
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 
 
 " Yet that is the way, which they miss," said 
 Lois. 
 
 "The way to what?" 
 
 "To real enjoyment. To life that is worth 
 living." 
 
 " What would you have them do?" 
 
 " Only what the Bible says." 
 
 " I do not believe I know the Bible as well as 
 you do. Of what directions are you thinking? 
 ' The poor ye have always with you ' ? " 
 
 "Not that," said Lois. "Let me get my Bible, 
 and I will tell you. This, Mrs. Barclay 'To loose 
 the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy bur- 
 dens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that 
 
 ye break every yoke To deal thy bread to 
 
 the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are 
 cast out to thy house; when thou seest the naked, 
 that thou cover him ; and that thou hide not thyself 
 from thine own flesh ' " 
 
 " And do you think, to live right, one must live 
 
 80?" 
 
 " It is the Bible ! " said Lois, with so innocent a 
 look of having answered all questions, that Mrs. 
 Barclay was near smiling. 
 
 " Do you think anybody ever did live so ? ' 
 
 "Job." 
 
 "Did he! I forget." 
 
 Lois turned over some leaves, and again read 
 " ' When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and 
 when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: be- 
 cause I delivered the poor that cried, and the fa-
 
 292 NOBOD\. 
 
 therless, and him that had none to help him. The 
 blessing of him that was ready to perish came 
 upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing 
 for joy. . . I was eyes to the blind, and feet was 
 I to the lame. I was a father to the poor: and 
 the cause that I knew not I searched out. And 
 I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the 
 spoil out of his teeth.' " 
 
 "To be a father to the poor, in these days, would 
 give a man enough to do, certainly; especially if 
 he searched out all the causes which were doubt- 
 ful. It would take all a man's time, and all his 
 money too, if he were as rich as Job; unless 
 you put some limit, Lois." 
 
 " What limit, Mrs. Barclay ? " 
 
 "Do you put none? I was not long ago speak- 
 ing with a friend, such a man of parts and powers 
 as was mentioned just now; a man who thus far in 
 his life has done nothing but for his own cultiva- 
 tion and amusement. I was urging upon him to 
 do something with himself; but I did not tell him 
 what. It did not occur to me to set him about 
 righting all the wrongs of the world." 
 
 " Is he a Christian ? " 
 
 " I am afraid you would not say so." 
 
 "Then he could not. One must love other peo- 
 ple, to live for them." 
 
 " Love all sorts ? " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " You cannot work for them unless you do." 
 
 "Then it is hopeless! unless one is born with 
 an exceptional mind."
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 293 
 
 "0 no," said Lois smiling, "not hopeless. The 
 love of Christ brings the love of all that he loves." 
 
 There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tender- 
 ness too, in the girl's face, which made Mrs. Barclay 
 look at her in a somewhat puzzled admiration. She 
 did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that 
 her face was a commentary upon them; therefore 
 also unintelligible; but it was strangely pure and 
 fair. " You would do for Philip, I do believe," she 
 thought, "if he could get you; but he will never 
 get you." Aloud she said nothing. By and by Lois 
 returned to the book she had brought in with her. 
 
 " Here are some words which I cannot read ; they 
 are not English. What are they ? " 
 
 Mrs. Barclay read: " Le bon gout, les ris, Taimable 
 liberte. That is French." 
 
 " What does it mean ? " 
 
 " Good taste, laughter, and charming liberty. You 
 do not know French ? " 
 
 " no," said Lois with a sort of breath of long- 
 ing. " French words come in quite often here, and 
 I am always so curious to know what they mean." 
 
 " Very well, why not learn ? I will teach you." 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay ! " 
 
 " It will give me the greatest pleasure. And it 
 is very easy." 
 
 " I do not care about tliat" said Lois ; " but I 
 would be so glad to know a little more than 1 do." 
 
 "You seem to me to have thought a good deal 
 more than most girls of your age ; and thought is 
 better than knowledge."
 
 294 NOBODY. 
 
 " Ah, but one needs knowledge in order to think 
 justly." 
 
 "An excellent remark! which if you will for- 
 give me I was making to myself a few minutes 
 ago." 
 
 " A few minutes ago ? About what I said ? 
 but there I have knowledge," said Lois smiling. 
 
 " You are sure of that ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lois, gravely now. " The Bible can- 
 not be mistaken, Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " But your application of it ? " 
 
 "How can that be mistaken? The words are 
 plain." 
 
 "Pardon me. I was only venturing to think 
 that you could have seen little, here in Shampu- 
 ashuh, of the miseries of the world, and so know 
 little of the difficulty of getting rid of them or of 
 ministering to them effectually." 
 
 "Not much " Lois agreed. "Yet I have seen 
 so much done by people without means I thought, 
 those who have means might do more." 
 
 " What have you seen ? Do tell me. Here I am 
 ignorant; except in so 'far as I know what some 
 large societies accomplish, and fail to accomplish." 
 
 " I have not seen much," Lois repeated. " But I 
 know one person, a farmer's wife, no better off than 
 a great many people here, who has brought up and 
 educated a dozen girls who were friendless and 
 poor." 
 
 " A dozen girls ! " Mrs. Barclay echoed. 
 
 " I think there have been thirteen. She had no
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 295 
 
 children of her own ; she was comfortably well off; 
 and she took these girls, one after another, some- 
 times two or three together; and taught them and 
 trained them, and fed and clothed them, and sent 
 them to school; and kept them with her until one 
 by one they married off. They all turned out well." 
 
 " I am dumb ! " said Mrs. Barclay. " Giving mon- 
 ey is one thing; I can understand that; but taking- 
 strangers' children into one's house and home life 
 and a dozen strangers' children ! " 
 
 " I knftw another woman, not so well off, who 
 does her own work, as most do here; who goes to 
 nurse any one she hears of that is sick and cannot 
 afford to get help. She will sit up all night taking 
 care of somebody, and then at break of the morning 
 go home to make her own fire and get her own fam- 
 ily's breakfast." 
 
 "But that is superb!" cried Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " And my father," Lois went on with a lowered 
 voice, "he was not very well off, but he used to 
 keep a certain little sum for lending; to lend to any- 
 body that might be in great need; and generally, 
 is soon as one person paid it back another person 
 was in want of it." 
 
 "Was it always paid back?" 
 
 " Always; except I think at two times. Once the 
 man died before he could repay it. The other time 
 it was lent to a woman, a widow; and she married 
 again, and between the man and the woman my 
 father never could get his money. But it was made 
 up to him another way He lost nothing."
 
 296 NOBODY. 
 
 "You have been in a different school from mine, 
 Lois," said Mrs. Barclay. "I am filled with ad- 
 miration." 
 
 " You see," Lois went on, " I thought, if with no 
 money or opportunity to speak of, one can do so 
 much, what might be done if one had the power 
 and the will too?" 
 
 " But in my small experience it is by no means 
 the rule, that money lent is honestly paid back again." 
 
 "Ah," said Lois with an irradiating smile, "but 
 this money was lent to the Lord; I suppose that 
 makes the difference." 
 
 " And are you bound to think well of no man but 
 one who lives after this exalted fashion? How 
 will you ever get married, Lois ? " 
 
 " I should not like to be married to this Duke of 
 York the book tells of; nor to the writer of the 
 book," Lois said smiling. 
 
 " That Duke of York was brother to the King of 
 England." 
 
 "The King was worse yet! He was not even 
 respectable." 
 
 " I believe you are right. Come let us begin 
 our French lessons." 
 
 With shy delight, Lois came near and followed 
 with most eager attention the instructions of her 
 friend. Mrs. Barclay fetched a volume of Florian's 
 easy writing; and to the end of her life Lois will 
 never forget the opening sentences in which she 
 made her first essay at French pronunciation and 
 received her first knowledge of what French words
 
 GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. 297 
 
 mean. " Non loin de la ville de Cures, dans le pays 
 des Sabins, au milieu d' une antique foret, s' 
 eleve un temple consacre a Ceres." So it began; 
 and the words had a truly witching interest 
 for Lois. But while she delightedly forgot all 
 she had been talking about, Mrs. Barclay, not de- 
 lightedly, recalled and went over it. Philip, Philip ! 
 your case is dark ! she was saying. And what am 
 I about, trying to help you!
 
 CHAPTER XX1J. 
 
 LEARNING. 
 
 THERE came a charming new life into the house 
 of the Lothrops. Madge and Lois were learn- 
 ing to draw, and Lois was prosecuting her French 
 studies with a zeal which promised to carry all be- 
 fore it. Every minute of her time was used ; every 
 opportunity was grasped; Xuma Pompiliusand the 
 dictionary were in her hands whenever her hands 
 were free; or Lois was bending over her drawing 
 with an intent eye and eager fingers. Madge kept 
 her company in these new pursuits, perhaps with 
 less engrossing interest; nevertheless with steady 
 purpose and steady progress. Then Mrs. Barclay 
 received from New York a consignment of beauti- 
 ful drawings and engravings from the best old mas- 
 ters and some of the best of the new; and she found 
 her hands becoming very full. To look at these 
 engravings was almost a passion with the two girls; 
 but not in the common way of picture seeing. Lois 
 wanted to understand everything; and it was neces- 
 sary therefore to go into wide fields of knowledge, 
 whore tlio pntlT* bvnnolio 1 rmny ways, and to fol- 
 
 '
 
 LEARNING. 299 
 
 low these various tracks out, one after another. 
 This could not be done all in talking; and Lois 
 plunged into a very sea of reading. Mrs. Barclay 
 was not obliged to restrain her, for the girl was 
 thorough and methodical in her ways of study as 
 of doing other things ; however, she would carry on 
 two or three lines of reading at once. Mrs. Bar- 
 clay wrote to her unknown correspondent, " Send 
 me Sismondi"; "send me Hallam's Middle Ages"; 
 "send me 'Walks about Kome';" "send me Plu- 
 tarch's Lives " ; " send me D'Aubigne's Reformation " ; 
 at last she wrote, " Send me Ruskin's Modern Paint- 
 ers. I have the most enormous intellectual appetite 
 to feed that ever I had to do witli in my life. And 
 yet no danger of an indigestion. Positively, Philip, 
 my task is growing from day to day delightful ; it 
 is only when I think of the end and aim of it all 
 that I get feverish and uneasy. At present we are 
 going with 'a full sail and a flowing sea'; a regu- 
 lar sweeping into knowledge, with a smooth, easy, 
 swift occupying and taking possession, which gives 
 the looker-on a stir of wondering admiration. 
 Those engravings were a great success; they opened 
 for me, and at once, doors before which I might 
 have waited some time; and now, eyes are explor- 
 ing eagerly the vast realms those doors unclose, 
 and hesitating only in which first to set foot. You 
 may send the 'Stones of Venice' too; I foresee 
 that it will be useful; and the 'Seven Lamps of 
 Architecture.' I am catching my breath, with the 
 swiftness of the way we go on. Tt is astonishing,
 
 300 NOBODY. 
 
 what all clustered round a view of Milan cathedrai 
 yesterday. By the way, Philip, no hurry but by 
 and by a stereoscope would be a good thing here. 
 Let it be a little hand glass, not a great instrument 
 of unvarying routine and magnificent sameness." 
 
 Books came by packages and packages. Such 
 books ! The eyes of the two girls gloated over them, 
 as they helped Mrs. Barclay unpack ; the room grew 
 full, with delightful disorder of riches; but none too 
 much, for they began to feel their minds so empty 
 that no amount of provision could be too generous. 
 
 "The room is getting to be running-over full. 
 What will you do, Mrs. Barclay ? " 
 
 " It is terrible when you have to sweep the 
 carpet, isn't it? I must send for some book cases." 
 
 "You might let Mr. Midgin put up some shelves 
 I could stain them, and make them look very 
 nice." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Midgin ? " 
 
 "The carpenter." 
 
 "Oh! Well. I think we had better send for 
 him, Lois. " 
 
 The door stood open into the kitchen, or dining 
 room rather, on account of the packing cases which 
 the girls were just moving out; then appeared the 
 figure of Mrs. Marx in the opening. 
 
 "Lois, Charity aint at home How much beef 
 are you goin' to want ? " 
 
 "Beef?" said Lois, smiling at the transition in 
 her thoughts. "For salting, you mean?" 
 
 "For salting, and for smoking, and for mince
 
 LEARNING. 301 
 
 meat, and for pickling. What is the girl think- 
 ing of?" 
 
 " She is thinking of books just now, Mrs. Marx," 
 suggested Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " Books ! " The lady stepped nearer and looked 
 in. " Well, I declare ! I should think you had 
 some. What in all the world can you do with 
 so many ? " 
 
 "Just what we were considering. I think we 
 must have the carpenter here, to put up some 
 shelves." 
 
 " Well I should say that was plain. But when 
 you have got 'em on the shelves, what next? 
 What will you do with 'em then ? " 
 
 " Take 'em down and read them, aunt Anne." 
 
 " Your life aint as busy as mine, then, if you 
 have time for all that. What's the good o' readin' 
 so much ? " 
 
 "There's so much to know, that we don't know!" 
 
 " I should like to know what," said Mrs. Marx, 
 going round and picking up one book after an- 
 other. " You've been to school, haven't you ? " 
 
 Lois changed her tone. 
 
 " I'll talk to Charity about the beef, and let you 
 know, aunt Anne." 
 
 " Well, come out to the other room and let me 
 talk to you ! Good afternoon, ma'am I hope you 
 don't let these girls make you too much worry. 
 Now, Lois," (after the door was shut between 
 them and Mrs. Barclay.) " I just want you to tell 
 me what you and Madge are about ? "
 
 302 NOBODY. 
 
 Lois told her, and Mrs. Marx listened with a 
 judicial air; then observed gravely, 
 
 "'Seems to me, there aint much sense in all 
 that, Lois." 
 
 " yes, aunt Anne ! there is." 
 
 " What's the use ? What do you want to know 
 more tongues than your own for, to begin with ? 
 you can't talk but in one at once. And spending 
 your time in making marks on paper! I believe 
 in girls goin' to school, and gettin' all they can 
 there; but when school is done, then they have 
 something else to see to. I'd rather have you 
 makin' quilts and gettin' ready to be married; 
 dom' women's work." 
 
 " I do my work," said Lois gayly. 
 
 " Child, your head's gettin' turned. Mother, do 
 you know the way Madge and Lois are goin' on ? " 
 r " I don't understand it," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " I understand it. And I'll tell you. I like learn- 
 ing, nobody better; but I want things kept in 
 their places. And I tell you, if this is let to go on, 
 it'll be like Jack's bean vine and not stop at the 
 top of the house; aud they'll be like Jack, and 
 go after to see, and never come back to common 
 ground any more." 
 
 Mrs. Armadale sat looking unenlightened. 
 Madge, who had come in midway of this speech, 
 stood indignant. 
 
 "Aunt Anne, that's not like you! You read as 
 much yourself as ever you can ; and never can get 
 books enough."
 
 LEARNING. 303 
 
 " I stick to English." 
 
 " English or French, what's the odds ? " 
 
 "What was good enough for your fathers and 
 mothers, ought to be good enough for you." 
 
 "That won't do, aunt Anne," retorted Madge. 
 "You were wanting a Berkshire pig awhile ago, 
 and I heard you talking of 'short-horns.'" 
 
 " That's it. I'd like to hear you talking of short- 
 horns." 
 
 " If- it is necessary, I could," said Lois; "but there 
 are pleasanter things to talk about." 
 
 "There you are! But pictures won't help Madge 
 make butter; and French is no use in a garden. 
 It's all very well for some people, I suppose; but, 
 mother, if these girls go on, they'll be all spoiled 
 for their place in life. This lodger of yours is try- 
 ing to make 'em like herself." 
 
 " I wish she could ! " said Madge. 
 
 "That's it, mother; that's what I say. But she's 
 one thing, and they're another; she lives in her 
 world, which aint Shampuashuh by a long jump, 
 and they live in Shampuashuh, and have got to 
 live there. Aint it a pity to get their heads so filled 
 with the other things that they'll be for ever out 
 o' conceit o' their own ? " 
 
 " It don't work so, aunt Anne," said Lois. 
 
 " It will work so. What use can all these krink- 
 um krankums be to you ? Shampuashuh aint the 
 place for 'em. You'll be like the girl that got a 
 new bonnet, and had to sit with her head out o 
 window to wear it."
 
 304 NOBOD\ . 
 
 Madge's cheeks grew red. Lois laughed. 
 
 " Daughter," said Mrs. Armadale, " 'seems to me 
 you are making a storm iu a tea pot." 
 
 Mrs. Marx laughed at that; then became quite 
 serious again. 
 
 " I aint doin' that," she said. " I never do. And 
 I've no enmity against all manner of fiddle-faddling, 
 if folks have got nothin' better to do. But 'taint so 
 with our girls. They work for their livin', and they've 
 got to work; and what I say is, they're in a way 
 to get to hate work, if they don't despise it, and in 
 my judgment that's a poor business. It's going the 
 wrong way to be happy. Mother, they ought to 
 marry farmers ; and they won't look at a farmer in 
 all Shampuashuh, if you let 'em go on." 
 
 Lois remarked merrily that she did not want to 
 look at a man anywhere. 
 
 "Then you ought. It's time. I'd like to see 
 you married to a good, solid man, who would 
 learn you to talk of short-horns and Berkshires. 
 Life's life, chickens; and it aint the tinkle of a 
 piano. All well enough for your neighbour in the 
 other room ; but you're a different sort." 
 
 Privately, Lois did not want to be of a different 
 sort. The refinement, the information, the accom- 
 plishments, the grace of manner, which in a high 
 degree belonged to Mrs. Barclay, seemed to her 
 very desirable possessions and endowments; and 
 the mental life of a person so enriched and gifted 
 appeared to her far to be preferred over a horizon 
 bounded by cheese and bedquilts. Mrs. Marx was
 
 LEARNING. 305 
 
 ,iot herself a narrow-minded woman, or one want- 
 ing in appreciation of knowledge and culture ; but 
 she was also a shrewd business woman, and what 
 she had seen at the Isles of Shoals had possibly giv- 
 en her a key wherewith to find her way through cer- 
 tain problems. She was not sure but Lois had been 
 a little touched by the attentions of that very hand 
 some, fair-haired and elegant gentleman who had 
 done Mrs. Marx the honour to take her into his 
 confidence; she was jealous lest all this study of 
 things unneeded in Shampuashuh life might have 
 a dim purpose of growing fitness for some other. 
 There she did Lois wrong, for no distant image of 
 Mr. Caruthers was connected in her niece's mind 
 with the delight of the new acquirements she was 
 making; although Tom Caruthers had done his 
 part, I do not doubt, towards Lois's keen percep- 
 tion of the beauty and advantage of such acquire- 
 ments. She was not thinking of Tom, when she 
 made her copies and studied her verbs; though if 
 she had never known the society in which she met 
 Tom and of which he was a member, she might not 
 have taken hold of them so eagerly. 
 
 " Mother," she said when Mrs. Marx was gone, 
 " are you afraid these new things will make me 
 forget my duties, or make me unfit for them ? " 
 
 Mrs. Armadale's mind was a shade more liber- 
 al than her daughter's, and she had not been at 
 the Isles of Shoals. She answered somewhat 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "No, child, I don'l know as I am. I don't see
 
 306 NOBODY. 
 
 as they do. I don't see what use they will be to 
 you; but maybe they'll be some." 
 
 " They are pleasure," said Lois. 
 
 " We don't live for pleasing ourselves, child." 
 
 "No, mother; but don't you think, if duties are 
 not neglected, that we ought to educate ourselves 
 all we can, and get all of every sort of good that 
 we can, when we have the opportunity ? " 
 
 "To be sure," said Mrs. Armadale; "if it aint 
 a temptation, it's a providence. Maybe you'll find 
 a use for it you don't think. Only take care it 
 aint a temptation, Lois." 
 
 From that time Lois's studies were carried on 
 with more systematic order. She would not neg- 
 lect her duties, and the short winter days left her 
 little spare time of daylight; therefore she rose long 
 before daylight came. If anybody had been there 
 to look, Lois might have been seen at four o'clock 
 in the family room, which this winter rather lost 
 its character of kitchen, seated at the table with 
 her lamp and her books; the room warm and quiet, 
 no noise but the snapping of the fire and breathing 
 of the flames, and now and then the fall of a brand. 
 And Lois sitting absorbed and intent, motionless, 
 except when the above-mentioned falling brands 
 obliged her to get up and put them in their places. 
 Her drawing she left for another time of day; she 
 could do that in company; in these hours she read 
 and wrote French, and read pages and pages of 
 history. Sometimes Madge was there too ; but Lois 
 always, from a very early hour until the dawn was
 
 LEARNING. 307 
 
 advanced far enough for her to see to put Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's room in order. Then with a sigh of pleasure 
 Lois would turn down her lamp, and with another 
 breath of hope and expectation betake herself to 
 the next room to put all things in readiness for 
 its owner's occupancy and use; which occupancy 
 and use involved most delightful hours of reading 
 and talking and instruction by and by. Making 
 the tire, sweeping, brushing, dusting, regulating 
 chairs and tables and books and trifles, drawing 
 back the curtains and opening the shutters; which 
 last, to be sure, she began with. And then Lois 
 went to do the same offices for the family room, 
 and to set the table for breakfast; unless Madge 
 had already dgne it. 
 
 And then Lois brought her Bible and read to 
 Mrs. Armadale, who by this time was in her chair 
 by the fireside and busy with her knitting. The 
 knitting was laid down then, however; and Mrs. 
 Armadale loved to take the book in her hands, 
 upon her lap, while her granddaughter, leaning 
 over it, read to her. They two had it alone; no 
 other meddled with them. Charity was always 
 in the kitchen at this time, and Madge often in 
 her dairy, and neither of them inclined to share 
 in the service which Lois always loved dearly to 
 render. They two, the old and the young, would 
 sit wholly engrossed with their reading and their 
 talk, unconscious of what was going on around 
 them ; even while Charity and Madge were bust- 
 ling in and out with the preparations for breakfast
 
 308 NOBODY. 
 
 Nothing of the bustle reached Mrs. Armadale 01 
 Lois, whose faces at such times had a high and 
 eweet and withdrawn look, very lovely to behold. 
 The hard features and wrinkled lines of the one 
 face made more noticeable the soft bloom and deli- 
 cate moulding of the other, while the contrast en- 
 hanced the evident oneness of spirit and interest 
 which filled them both. When they were called 
 to breakfast and moved to the table, then there 
 was a difference. Both indeed shewed a subdued 
 sweet gravity; but Mrs. Armadale was wont also 
 to be very silent and withdrawn into herself, or 
 busied with inner communings; while Lois was 
 ready with speech or action for everybody's oc- 
 casions and full of gentle ministry. . Mrs. Barclay 
 used to study them both, and be wonderingly busy 
 with the contemplation.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 
 
 IT was Christmas eve. Lois had done her morn- 
 ing work by the lamplight, and was putting 
 the dining room, or sitting room rather, in order; 
 when Madge joined her and began to help. 
 
 " Is the other room ready ? " 
 
 " All ready," said Lois. 
 
 " Are you doing that elm tree ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How do you get along?" 
 
 " I cannot manage it yet, to my satisfaction; but 
 I will. Madge, isn't it too delicious ? " 
 
 " What ? the drawing ? Isn't it ! ! " 
 
 " I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. 
 I am getting hold of French, and it's delightful. 
 But the books ! Madge, the books ! I feel as 
 if I had been a chicken in his shell until now. and 
 as if I were just getting my eyes open to seo 
 what the world is like." 
 
 "What is it like?" asked Madge laughing. 
 " My eyes are shut yet, I supoose, for I haven't 
 
 found out. You can tell me." 
 (309)
 
 310 NOBODY. 
 
 " Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are 
 shut. Besides, mine are only getting open." 
 
 "What do they see? Come, Lois? Tell." 
 
 Lois stood still, resting on her broom handle. 
 
 "The world seems to me an immense battle 
 place, where wrong and right have been strug- 
 gling; always struggling. And sometimes the 
 wrong seems to cover the whole earth, like a flood, 
 and there is nothing but confusion and horror; 
 and then sometimes the floods part and one sees 
 a little bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers 
 might grow, if they had a chance. And in those 
 spots there is generally some great, grand man, 
 who has fought back the flood of wrong and made 
 a clearing." 
 
 "Well I do not understand all that one bit!* 1 
 said Madge. 
 
 " I do not wonder," said Lois laughing, " I do 
 not understand it very clearly myself. I cannot 
 blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, that 
 the ancient Persians had just that idea of the world 
 being a battle place, and that wrong and right 
 were fighting; or rather, that the Spirit of good 
 and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd 
 was their name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman 
 the other. It is very strange, for that is just the 
 truth." 
 
 "Then why is it strange?" said downright 
 Madge. 
 
 " Because they were heathen ; they did not know 
 the Bible."
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 311 
 
 "Is that what the Bible says? I didn't know 
 it." 
 
 " Why Madge, yes you did. You know who is 
 called the 'prince of this world'; and you know 
 Jesus ' was manifested that he might destroy the 
 works of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign 
 till he has put all enemies under his feet.' But 
 how should those old Persians know so much, with- 
 out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You 
 know, Enoch knew?" 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 "Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course 
 they all knew when they came out of the ark " 
 
 " Who? the Persians?" 
 
 Lois broke out into a laugh, and began to move 
 her broom again. 
 
 " What have you been reading, to put all this 
 into your head ? " 
 
 The broom stopped. 
 
 "Ancient history, and modern; parts here and 
 there, in different books. Mrs. Barclay shewed 
 me where; and then we have talked " 
 
 Lois began now to sweep vigorously. 
 
 " Lois, is she like the people you used to see in 
 New York? I mean, were they all like her? " 
 
 "Not all so nice." 
 
 "But like her?" 
 
 "Not in everything. No, they were net most 
 of them so clever, and most of them did not know 
 BO much, and were not so accomplished." 
 
 "But they were like her in other things?"
 
 312 1\U15ULK. 
 
 "No," said Lois standing still; "she is a head 
 and shoulders above most of the women I saw; 
 but they were of her sort, if that is what you 
 mean." 
 
 "That is what I inean. She is not a bit like 
 people here. We must seem very stupid to her, 
 Lois." 
 
 " Shampuashuh people are not stupid." 
 
 " Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid ; but she is not 
 like Mrs. Barclay. And she don't want us to be 
 like Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " No danger ! " said Lois, very busy now at 
 her work. 
 
 "But wouldn't you like to be like Mrs. Barclay?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " So would I." 
 
 " Well, we can, in the things that are most valu- 
 able," said Lois, standing still again for a moment 
 to look at her sister. 
 
 " O yes, books But I would like to be graceful 
 like Mrs. Barclay. You would call that not valua- 
 ble; but I care more for it than for all the rest. 
 Her beautiful manners." 
 
 " She has beautiful manners," said Lois. " I do 
 not think manners can be taught. They cannot 
 be imitated." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " they wouldn't be natural. And what suits 
 one might not suit another. A very handsome 
 nose of somebody else, might not be good on my 
 face. But thev would not be natural."
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 313 
 
 " You need not wish for anybody's nose but your 
 own," said Madge. " That will do, and so will 
 mine, I'm thankful! But what makes her look so 
 unhappy, Lois?" 
 
 " She does look unhappy." 
 
 " She looks as if she had lost all her friends." 
 
 " She has got one, here," said Lois, sweeping 
 away. 
 
 " But what good can you do her?" 
 
 " Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even 
 know the fact." 
 
 " She's doing a good deal for us." 
 
 A little later it was, that Mrs. Barclay came 
 down to her room. She found it, as always, in 
 bright order; the fire shine casting red reflections 
 into every corner, and making pleasant contrast 
 with the grey .without. For it was cloudy and 
 windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all 
 that could be seen abroad; the clouds swept along 
 grey overhead, and the earth lay brown and bare 
 below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheer 
 iest play of light and colour; here it touched the 
 rich leather bindings of books, there the black and 
 white of an engraving, here it was caught in the 
 folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and 
 purple in hue, and again it warmed up the old- 
 fashioned furniture and lost itself in a brown table 
 cover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it 
 found them even in this country furnished room at 
 Shampuaslmh. Though indeed the piles of books 
 came from afar, and so did the large portfolio of
 
 314 NOBODY. 
 
 engravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreign 
 er. She sat in her comfortable chair before the 
 tire and read her letters, which Lois had laid ready 
 for her; and then she was called to breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here 
 too, as she had often done before. The old lady, 
 ungain as her figure and uncomely as her face 
 were, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of 
 a strong and true character, which with abundant 
 self-respect had not, and never had, any anxious 
 concern about the opinion of any human being. 
 Whoever feels himself responsible to the one Great 
 Ruler alone, and does feel that responsibility, will 
 be both worthy of respect and sure to have it in 
 his relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. 
 Barclay paid Mrs. Armadale. Her eye passed on 
 and admired Madge, who was very handsome in 
 her neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois 
 finally with absolute contentment. Lois was in 
 a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knitted 
 shawl bound round her shoulders in the way chil- 
 dren sometimes have, the ends crossed on the 
 breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown 
 and white was her whole figure, except the rosy 
 flush on cheeks and lips; the masses of fluffy hair 
 were reddish brown, a shade lighter than her dress. 
 At Charity Mrs. Barclay did not look much, un- 
 less for curiosity; she was a study of a different 
 Bort. 
 
 " What delicious rolls ! " said Mrs. Barclay 
 "Are these your work, Miss Charity V",
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 315 
 
 "I can make as good, I guess," said that lady; 
 " but these aint mine. Lois made 'em." 
 
 " Lois ! " said Mrs. Barclay. " I did not know 
 that this was one of your accomplishments." 
 
 " Is that what you call an accomplishment," said 
 Charity. 
 
 " Certainly. What do you mean by it ? " 
 
 "I thought, an accomplishment was something 
 that one could accomplish that was no use." 
 
 " I am sorry you have such an opinion of ac 
 complishments." 
 
 " Well, aint it true ? Lois, maybe Mrs. Barclaj 
 don't care for sausages. There's cold meat." 
 
 " Your sausages are excellent. I like such sau 
 sage very much." 
 
 " I always think sausages aint sausages if they 
 aint stuffed. Aunt Anne won't have the plague 
 of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doing at all, 
 it's worth doing the best way; and there's no 
 comparison in my mind." 
 
 "So you judge everything by its utility." 
 
 " Don't everybody, that's got any sense ? " 
 
 "And therefore, you condemn accomplishments?" 
 
 " Well, I don't see the use. if folks have got 
 nothing else to do, and just want to make a flare- 
 up but for us in Shampuashuh, what's the good 
 of them? For Lois and Madge, now; I don't 
 make it out." 
 
 "You forget, your sisters may marry, and go 
 somewhere else to live; and then " 
 
 "I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois aint
 
 316 NOBODY. 
 
 goiii' to marry anybody but a real godly man, and 
 what use'll her accomplishments be to her then ? " 
 
 " Why, just as much use, I hope," said Mrs. Bar- 
 clay smiling. "Why not? The more education 
 a woman has, the more fit she is to content a man 
 of education, anywhere." 
 
 " Where's she to get a man of education ? " said 
 Charity. " What you mean by that- don't grow in 
 these parts. We aint savages exactly, but there 
 aint many accomplishments scattered through the 
 village. Unless, as you say, bread-makin's one. 
 We do know how to make bread, and cake, with 
 anybody; Lois said she didn't see a bit o' real good 
 cake all the while she was in Gotham ; and we can 
 cure hams, and we understand horses and cows, 
 and butter and cheese, and farming of course, and 
 that; but you won't find your man of education 
 here, or Lois won't." 
 
 " She may find him somewhere else," said Mrs. 
 Barclay, looking at Charity over her cofiee cup. 
 
 " Then he won't be the right kind," persisted 
 Charity; while Lois laughed and begged they 
 would not discuss the question of her possible 
 'finds"; but Mrs. Barclay asked, "how not the 
 right kind?" 
 
 " Well, every place has its sort,' said Charity. 
 "Our sort is religious. I don't know whether 
 we're any better than other folks, but we're relig- 
 ious; and your men of accomplishments aint, be 
 they?" 
 
 " Depends on what you mean by religious. "
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 317 
 
 " Well, I mean godly. Lois won't ever marry 
 any but a godly man." 
 
 " I hope not ! " said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "She won't," said Charity; "but you had better 
 talk to Madge, mother. I am not so sure of her. 
 Lois is safe." 
 
 " ' The fashion of this world passeth away, ' " 
 said the old lady, with a gravity which was yet 
 sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth for 
 ever.'" 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was now silent. This morning, 
 contrary to her usual wont, she kept her place at 
 the table, though the meal was finished. She was 
 curious to see the ways of the household, and felt 
 herself familiar enough with the family to venture 
 to stay. Charity began to gather her cups. 
 
 " Did you give aunt Anne's invitation ? Hand 
 along the plates, Madge, and carry your butter 
 'away. We've been for ever eating breakfast." . 
 
 " Talking " said Mrs. Barclay with a smile. 
 
 " Talking's all very well, but I think one thing 
 at a time is enough. It is as much as most folks 
 can attend to. Lois, do give me the plates; and 
 give your invitation." 
 
 " Aunt Anne wants us all to come and take tea 
 with her to-night," said Lois; "and she sent her 
 compliments to Mrs. Barclay and a message that 
 she would be very glad to see her with the rest 
 of us." 
 
 " I am much obliged, and shall be very happy 
 to go."
 
 U8 NOBODY. 
 
 " 'Taint a party," said Charity, who was receiring 
 plates and knives and forks from Lois's hand and 
 making them elaborately ready for washing; while 
 Madge went back and forth clearing the table of 
 the remains of the meal. " It's nothin' but to go 
 and take our tea there instead of here. We save 
 the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have the trouble 
 of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has 
 for her side she knows best herself. I guess she's 
 proud of her sweetmeats." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay smiled again. "It seems parties 
 are much the same thing, wherever they are given," 
 she said. 
 
 " This aint a party," repeated Charity. Madge 
 had now brought a tub of hot water, and the 
 washing up of the breakfast dishes was under- 
 taken by Lois and Charity with a despatch and 
 neatness and celerity which the looker-on had 
 never seen equalled. 
 
 " Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fash- 
 ion," she remarked. " I have not heard of any 
 since I have been here." 
 
 " No," said Charity. " We have more sense." 
 
 " I am not sure that it shews sense," remarked 
 Lois, carrying off a pile of clean hot plates to the 
 cupboard. 
 
 " What's the use of 'em ? " said the elder sister. 
 
 " Cultivation of friendly feeling " suggested 
 Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " If folks aint friendly already, the less they see 
 of one another the better they'll agree," said Charity.
 
 A BREAKFAST TABLE. 319 
 
 "Miss Charity, I am afraid you do not love 
 your fellow creatures," said Mrs. Barclay, much 
 amused. 
 
 "As well as they love me, I guess," said 
 Charity. 
 
 "Mrs. Armadale," said Mrs. Barclay, appealing 
 to the old lady who sat in her corner knitting 
 as usual, " do not these opinions require some 
 correction ? " 
 
 "Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. 
 Armadale, scratching behind her ear with the point 
 of her needle, as she was very apt to do when 
 called upon. 
 
 "But that is not the right way to think, is 
 it?" 
 
 " It's the natural way," said the old lady. " It 
 is only the fruit of the Spirit that is 'love, joy, 
 peace.' 'Taint natural, to love what you don't 
 like." 
 
 "What you don't like! no," said Mrs. Barclay; 
 " that is a pitch of love I never di'eamed of." 
 
 " ' If ye love them that love you, what thank 
 have ye ? ' " said the old lady quietly. 
 
 " Mother's off now," said Charity ; " out of any- 
 body's understanding. One would think I was 
 more unnatural than the rest of folks I " 
 
 "She said you were more natural, thats all," 
 said Lois with a sly smile. 
 
 The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a 
 few minutes more, marvelling to see the quick 
 dexterity with which everything was done by the
 
 320 NOBODY. 
 
 two girls; until the dishes were put away, the 
 tub and towels were gone, the table was covered 
 with its brown cloth, a few crumbs were brushed 
 from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one 
 direction and Lois in another. Mrs. Barclay her- 
 self withdrew to her room and her thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE CARPENTER. 
 
 THE day was a more than commonly busy one, 
 so that the usual hours of lessons in Mrs. 
 Barclay's room did not come off. It was not till 
 late in the afternoon that Lois went to her friend, 
 to tell her that Mrs. Marx would send her little 
 carriage in about an hour to fetch her mother, and 
 that Mrs. Barclay also might ride if she would. 
 Mrs. Barclay was sitting in her easy chair before 
 the fire, doing nothing, and on receipt of this in- 
 formation turned a very shadowed face towards 
 the bringer of it. 
 
 " What will you say to me, if after all your 
 aunt's kindness in asking me, I do not go ? " 
 
 " Not go ? You are not well ? " inquired Lois 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I am quite well too well ! " 
 
 " But something is the matter ? " 
 
 "Nothing new." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Barclay, can I help you ? " 
 
 " I do not think you can. I am tired, Lois ! " 
 
 (321)
 
 322 NOBODY. 
 
 " Tired ! that is spending so much time giv- 
 ing lessons to Madge and me ! I am so sorry." 
 
 " It is nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Barclay, 
 stretching out her hand to take one of Lois, which 
 she retained in her own. " If anything would take 
 away this tired feeling, it is just that, Lois. Noth- 
 ing refreshes me so much, or does me so much 
 good." 
 
 " Then what tires you, dear Mrs. Barclay ? " 
 
 Lois's face shewed unaffected anxiety. Mrs. Bar- 
 clay gave the hand she held a little squeeze. 
 
 " It is nothing new, my child," she said with a 
 faint smile. " I am tired of life." 
 
 Looking at the girl, as she spoke, she saw how 
 unable her listener's mind was to comprehend her. 
 Lois looked puzzled. 
 
 "You do not know what I mean?" she said. 
 
 "Hardly" 
 
 " I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. 
 It is like what I can fancy a withered autumn leaf 
 feeling, if it were a sentient and intelligent thing; 
 of no use to the branch which holds it, fresh- 
 ness and power gone, no reason for existence left, 
 its work all done. Only I never did any work, and 
 was never of any particular use." 
 
 " you cannot mean that ! " cried Lois, much 
 troubled and perplexed. 
 
 " I keep going over to-day that little hymn you 
 shewed me, that was found under the dead soldier's 
 pillow. The words run in my head, and wake 
 echoes.
 
 THE CARPENTER. 323 
 
 "'I lay me down to sleep, 
 
 With little thought or care 
 Whether the waking find 
 
 Me here, or there. . 
 
 " 'A bowing, burdened head ' " 
 
 But here the speaker broke off abruptly, and for 
 a few minutes Lois saw, or guessed, that she could 
 not go on. 
 
 "Never mind that verse," she said, beginning 
 again; "it is the next. Do you remember? 
 
 " 'My good right hand forgets 
 
 Its cunning now. 
 To march the weary march, 
 I know not how. 
 
 " ' I am not eager, bold, 
 
 Nor brave; all that is past 
 I am ready not to do, 
 At last, at last ! ' 
 
 " I am too young to feel so," Mrs. Barclay went 
 on, after a pause which Lois did not break; "but 
 that is how I feel to-day." 
 
 " I do not think one need or ought at any 
 age," Lois said gently ; but her words were hardly 
 regarded. 
 
 " Do you hear that wind ? " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 "It has been singing and sighing in the chimney 
 in that way all the afternoon." 
 
 "It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings 
 BO, and I like it. I like it especially at Christmas 
 time."
 
 324 NOBODY. 
 
 " It carries me back years. It takes me to my 
 old home, when I was a child. I think it must 
 have sighed so round the house then. It takes me 
 to a time when I was in my fresh young life and 
 vigour the unfolding leaf when life was careless 
 and cloudless; and I have a kind of homesickness 
 to-night for my father and mother. Of the days 
 since that time, I dare not think." 
 
 Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in hei 
 friend's eyes, slowly and few, as they come to peo- 
 ple with whom hope is a lost friend; and her heart 
 was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet 
 she did not know how to speak. She recalled the 
 verse of the soldier's hymn which Mrs. Barclay had 
 passed over 
 
 "A bowing, burdened head, 
 
 That only asks to rest 
 Unquestioning, upon 
 A loving breast." 
 
 She thought she knew what the grief was; but 
 how to touch it ! She sat still and silent, and per- 
 haps even so spoke her sympathy better than 
 any words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. 
 Barclay felt it .so, for she presently went on 
 after a manner which was not like her usual 
 reserve. 
 
 " that wind ! that wind ! It sweeps away 
 all that has been between, and puts home and my 
 childhood before me. But it makes me homesick, 
 Lois!"
 
 THE CARPENTER. 325 
 
 "Cannot you go on with the hymn, dear MIB. 
 Barclay ? You know how it goes, 
 
 " My half day's work is done; 
 And this is all my part 
 I give a patient God 
 My patient heart.' " 
 
 " What does He want with it ? " said the weary 
 woman beside her. 
 
 " What ? it is the very thing he wants of us, 
 and of you ; the one thing he cares about ! That 
 we would love him." 
 
 "I have not done a half day's work," said the 
 other; "and my heart is not patient It is only 
 tired, and dead." 
 
 " It is not that" said Lois. " How very, very 
 good you have been to Madge and me." 
 
 "You have been good to me. And as your grand- 
 mother quoted this morning, no thanks are due 
 when we only love those who love us. My heart 
 does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better 
 go to your aunt's without me, dear. I should not 
 be good company." 
 
 "But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; 
 and she left her seat and sank upon her knees at 
 her friend's side, still clasping the hand that had 
 taken hers. " Dear Mrs. Barclay, there is help." 
 
 " If you could give it, there would be, you pretty 
 creature ! " said Mrs. Barclay, with her other hand 
 pushing the beautiful masses of red brown hair 
 right and left from Lois' s brow.
 
 326 NOBODY. 
 
 " But there is One who can give it, who is stronger 
 than I, and loves you better." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " 
 
 "Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all 
 ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give 
 you rest.' " 
 
 Mrs. Barclay said nothing, but she shook her 
 head. 
 
 " It is a promise," Lois repeated. " It is a PROM- 
 ISE. It is the King's promise; and he never breaks 
 his word." 
 
 "How do you know, my child? You have nevei 
 been where I am." 
 
 "No " said Lois, "not there. I have never felt 
 just so." 
 
 " I have had all that life could give. I have had 
 it, and knew I had it. And it is all gone. There 
 is nothing left." 
 
 " There is this left," said Lois eagerly, " which 
 you have not tried." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The promise of Christ." 
 
 " My dear, you do not know what you are talk 
 ing of. Life is in its spring with you." 
 
 " But I know the King's promise," said Lois. 
 
 " How do you know it ? " 
 
 " I have tried it." 
 
 " But you have never had any occasion to try it, 
 you heart-sound creature ! " said Mrs. Barclay, with 
 again a caressing, admiring touch of Lois's brow 
 
 "0 but indeed I have. Not in need like yours
 
 THE CARPENTER. 327 
 
 I have never touched that I never felt like 
 that; but in other need, as great and as terrible. 
 And I know, and everybody else who has ever 
 tried knows, that the Lord keeps his word." 
 
 "How have you tried?" Mrs. Barclay asked 
 abstractedly. 
 
 " I needed the forgiveness of sin," said Lois, let- 
 ting her voice fall a little, "arid deliverance 
 from it." 
 
 " You! " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " I was as unhappy as anybody could be, till 1 
 got it." 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 " Four years ago." 
 
 "Are you much different now from what you 
 were before?" 
 
 " Entirely." 
 
 " I cannot imagine you in need of forgiveness. 
 What had you done ? " 
 
 " I had done nothing whatever that I ought to 
 have done. I loved only myself, I mean first, 
 and lived only to myself and my own pleasure, and 
 did my own will." 
 
 " Whose will do you now ? your grandmother's." 
 
 "Not grandmother's first. I do God's will, as 
 far as I know it." 
 
 "And therefore you think you are forgiven?' 
 
 " I don't think, I know," said Lois with a quick 
 breath. " And it is not ' therefore ' at all ; it is be- 
 cause I am covered, or my sin is, with the blood of 
 Christ. An^T love him ; and he makes me happy."
 
 328 NOBODY. 
 
 "It is easy to make you happy, dear, lo me 
 there is nothing left in the world, nor the possi- 
 bility of anything. That wind is singing a dirge 
 in ray ears; and it sweeps over a desert. A desert 
 where nothing green will grow any more ! " 
 
 The words were spoken very calmly; there was 
 no emotion visible that either threatened or prom- 
 ised tears; a dull, matter-of-fact, perfectly clear and 
 quiet utterance, that almost broke Lois's heart. The 
 water that was denied to the other eyes sprang to 
 her own. 
 
 " It was in the wilderness that the people were 
 fed with manna," she said, with a great gush of 
 feeling in both heart and voice. "It was when 
 tliey were starving and had no food, just then, that 
 they got the bread from heaven." 
 
 "Manna does not fall now-a-days," said Mrs. 
 Barclay with a faint smile. 
 
 " yes, it does ! There is your mistake, because 
 you do not know It does come. Look here, 
 Mrs. Barclay " 
 
 She sprang up, went for a Bible which lay on 
 one of the tables, and dropping on her knees 
 again by Mrs. Barclay's side shewed her an open 
 page. 
 
 "Look here 'I am the bread of life; he that 
 cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that be- 
 lieveth on me shall never thirst. . . . This is the 
 bread which cometh down from heaven, that a 
 man may eat thereof and not die.' Not die of 
 weariness, nor of anything else." ^
 
 THE CARPENTER. 32? 
 
 Mm Barclay did look with a little curiosity at 
 the words Lois held before her, but then she put 
 down the book and took the girl in her arms, hold- 
 ing her close and laying her own head on Lois's 
 shoulder. Whether the words had moved her, 
 Lois could not tell, or whether it was the power 
 of her own affection and sympathy; Mrs. Barclay 
 did not speak, and Lois did not dare add another 
 word. They were still, wrapped in each other' 
 arms, and one or two of Lois's tears wet the other 
 woman's cheek; and there was no movement made 
 by either of them; until the door was suddenly 
 opened and they sprang apart. 
 
 " Here's Mr. Midgin," announced the voice of 
 Miss Charity. " Shall he come in ? or aint there 
 time ? Of all things, why can't folks choose con- 
 venient times for doin' what they have to do ! It 
 passes me. It's because it's a sinful world, I sup- 
 pose. But what shall I tell him ? to go about his 
 business, and come New Year's, or next Fourth 
 of July?" 
 
 " You do not want to see him now ? " said Lois 
 hastily. But Mrs. Barclay roused herself and 
 begged that he might come in. " It is the car 
 penter, I suppose," said she. 
 
 Mr. Midgin was a tall, loose-jointed, large-fea- 
 tured man, with an undecided cast of countenance, 
 and slow movements; which fitted oddly to his big 
 frame and powerful muscles. He wore his work- 
 ing suit, which hung about him in a flabby way, 
 and entered Mrs. Barclay's room with his hat on.
 
 330 NOBODY. 
 
 Hat and all, his head made a little jerk of saluta- 
 tion to the lady. 
 
 " Good arternoon ! " said he. " Sun'thin' I kin 
 do here? ' 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Midgin I left word for you three 
 days ago," said Lois. 
 
 "Jest so. I heerd. And here I be. Wall, I 
 never see a room with so many books in it ! Lois, 
 you must be like a cow in clover, if you're half as 
 fond of 'em as I be." 
 
 " You are fond of reading, Mr. Midgin ? " said 
 Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 "Wall, I think so. But what's in 'em all?" He 
 came a step further into the room and picked up a 
 volume from the table. Mrs. Barclay watched him. 
 He opened the book, and stood still, eagerly scan- 
 ning the page, for a minute or two. 
 
 " ' Lamps of Architectur'" said he, looking then 
 at the title page ; " that's beyond me. The only 
 lamps of architectur that I erer see, in Shampu- 
 ashuh anyway, is them that stands up at the depot, 
 by the railroad; but here's 'truth,' and 'sacrifice,' 
 and I don' know what all; 'hope' and 'love,' I ex- 
 pect. Wall, them's good lamps to light up any- 
 thin' by ; only I don't make out whatever they kin 
 have to do with buildin's." He picked up an- 
 other volume. 
 
 "What's this?" said he. "'Taint my native 
 tongue. What do ye call it, Lois?" 
 
 "That is French, Mr. Midgin." 
 
 "That's French, eh?" said he turning over the
 
 THE CARPENTER. 331 
 
 leaves. " I want to know ! Don't look as though 
 there was any sense in it. What is it about, now ? " 
 
 " It is a story of a man who was king of Rome 
 a great while ago." 
 
 "King o' Rome! What was his name? Not 
 Romulus and Remus, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " No ; but he came just after Romulus." 
 
 "Did, hey? Then you s'pose there ever was 
 Bich a man as Romulus?" 
 
 "Probably," Mrs. Barclay now said. "When a 
 story gets form and lives, there is generally some- 
 thing of fact to serve as foundation for it." 
 
 "You think that?" said the carpenter. "Wall, 
 I kin tell you stories that had form enough, and 
 life enough in 'em, to do a good deal o' work; and 
 that yet grew up out o' nothin' but smoke. There 
 was Governor Denver; he was governor o' this state 
 for quite a spell; and he was a Shampuashuh man, 
 so we all knew him and thought lots o' him. He 
 was sot against drinking. Mebbe you don't think 
 there's no harm in wine and the like ? " 
 
 " I have not been accustomed to think there was 
 any harm in it certainly, unless taken immoderately." 
 
 " Ay, but how're you goin' to fix what's mod- 
 erately? there's the pinch. What's a gallon for 
 me's only a pint for you. Wall Governor Denver 
 didn't believe in haviu' nothin' to do with the blamed 
 stuff; and he had taken the pledge agin it, and he 
 was known for an out and out Temperance man ; 
 tee-total, was the word with him. Wall, his daugh- 
 ter was married, over here at New Haven ; and they
 
 332 NOBODY. 
 
 had a gran I weddin', and a good many o the folks 
 was like you, they thought there was no harm in 
 it, if one kept inside the pint, you know; and there 
 was enough for everybody to hev had his gallon. 
 And then they said the Governor had taken his 
 glass to his daughter's health, or something like 
 that Wall all Shampuashuh was talkin' about 
 it, and Gov. Denver's friends was hangin' their 
 heads, and didn't know what to say; for what- 
 ever a man thinks, and thoughts is free, he's 
 bound to stand to what he says, and particularly 
 if he has taken his oath upon it So Gov. Denver's 
 friends was as worried as a steam vessel in a fog, 
 when she can't hear the 'larm bells; and one said 
 this and 'tother said that And at last I couldn't 
 stand it no longer; and I writ him a letter to the 
 Governor; and says I, 'Governor,' says I, 'did you 
 drink wine at your daughter Lottie's weddin' at 
 New Haven last month ? ' And if you'll believe 
 me, he writ me back, 'Jonathan Midgin, Esq. 
 Dear sir, I was in New York the day you men- 
 tion, shakin' with chills and fever, and never got 
 to Lottie's weddin' at all.' What do you think 
 o' that? Overturns your theory a lee tie, don't it? 
 Warn't no sort o' foundation for that story; and 
 yet, it did go round, and folks said it was so." 
 
 " It is a strong story for your side, Mr. Midgin, 
 undoubtedly." 
 
 "Aint it! La! bless you, there's nothin' you 
 kin be sartain of in this world. I don't believe 
 in no Romulus and his goat Half o' all these
 
 THE CARPENTER. J33 
 
 books, now, I have no doubt, tells lies; and the 
 other half, you don' know which 'tis." 
 
 "I cannot throw them away however, just yet; 
 and so, Mr. Midgin, I want some shelves to keep 
 them off the floor." 
 
 " I should say you jest did ! Where'll you put 
 'em?" 
 
 "The shelves? All along that side of the room, 
 I think. And about six feet high." 
 
 "That'll hold 'em," said Mr. Midgin, as he ap- 
 plied his measuring rule. "Jest shelves? or do 
 you want a bookcase fixed up all reg'lar?" 
 
 "Just shelves. That is the prettiest bookcase, 
 to my thinking." 
 
 " Thatfs as folks looks at it," said Mr. Midgin, who 
 apparently was of a different opinion. " What'll 
 they be ? Mahogany, or walnut, or cherry, or 
 maple, or pine? You kin stain 'em any colour. 
 One thing's handsome, and another thing's cheap; 
 and I don' know yet whether you want 'em cheap 
 or handsome." 
 
 " Want 'em both, Mr. Midgin," said Lois. 
 
 " H'm ! Well maybe there's folks that knows 
 how to combine both advantages but I'm afeard 
 I aint one of 'em. Nothin' that's cheap's handsome, 
 to my way o' thinkiri'. You don't make much count 
 o' cheap things here anyhow," said he, surveying 
 the room. And then he began his measurements, 
 going round the sides of the apartment to apply 
 his rule to all the plain spaces; and Mrs. Barclay 
 noticed how tenderly he handled the books which
 
 334 NOBODY 
 
 he had to move out of his way. Now and then 
 he stopped to open one, and stood a minute or 
 two peering into it. All this while his hat was 
 on. 
 
 " Should like to read that," he remarked, with a 
 volume of Macaulay's Essays in his hands. "That's 
 well written. But a man can't read all the world," 
 he went on, as he laid it out of his hands again. 
 "Much study is a weariness to the flesh.' Arter 
 all, I don't suppose a man'd be no wiser if he'd read 
 all you've got here. The biggest fool I ever knowed, 
 was the man that had read the most." 
 
 "How did he shew his folly?" Mrs. Barclay 
 asked. 
 
 " Wall, it's a story. Lois knows. He was dread- 
 fully sot on a little grandchild he had; his chil'n 
 was all dead, and he had jest this one left; she 
 was a little girl. And he never left her out o' 
 his sight, nor she him; until one day he had to 
 go to Boston for some business; and he couldn't 
 take her; and he said he knowed some harm'd 
 come. Do you believe in pre-sentiments." 
 
 "Sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " How should a man have pre-sentiments o' what's 
 romin'?" 
 
 " I cannot answer that." 
 
 "No, nor nobody else. It aint reason. I believe 
 the pre-sentiments makes the things come." 
 
 " Was that the case in this instance? " 
 
 " Wall, I don't see how it could. When he come 
 back from Boston, the little girl was dead; but she
 
 THE CARPENTER. 335 
 
 was as well as ever when he went away. Aint that 
 curious ? " 
 
 "Certainly; if it is true." 
 
 " I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth. The hull 
 town knows it. 'Taint no secret. 'Twas old Mr. 
 Roderick, you know, Lois; lived up yonder on the 
 road to the ferry. And after he come back from 
 the funeral he shut himself up in the room where 
 his grandchild had been and nobody ever see hirii 
 no more from that day, 'thout 'twas the folks in the 
 house; and there warn't many o' them; but he 
 never went out. An' he never went out for seven 
 years; and at the end o' seven years he had to 
 there was money in it and folks that won't mind 
 nothin' else, they minds Mammon, you know; so he 
 went out. An' as soon as he was out o' the house, 
 his women folks, they made a rush for his room, 
 fur to clean it; for, if you'll believe me, it hadn't 
 been cleaned all those years; and I expect 'twas in 
 a condition; but the women likes nothin' better; 
 and as they opened some door or other, of a closet or 
 that, out runs a little white mouse, and it run clear 
 off; they t couldn't catch it any way, and they tried 
 every way. It was gone, and they were scared, for 
 they knowed the old gentleman's ways. It wasn't 
 i\ closet either it was in, but some piece o' furniture ; 
 I'm blessed ef I can remember what they called it. 
 The mouse was gone, and the womenfolks was 
 scared; and to be sure, when Mr. Roderick come 
 home he went as straight as a line to that there 
 door where the mouse was; and they say he made
 
 336 NOBODY. 
 
 a terrible rumpus when he couldn't find it; but 
 arter that the spell was broke, like; and he lived 
 pretty much as other folks. Did you say six feet?" 
 
 '* That will be high enough. And you may leave 
 a space of eight or ten feet on that side, from win- 
 dow to window." 
 
 "Thoutany?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That'll be kind o' lop sided, won't it ? I allays 
 likes to see things samely. What'll you do with 
 all that space of emptiness? It'll look awful bare." 
 
 " I will put something else there. What do you 
 suppose the white mouse had to do with your old 
 gentleman's seclusion?" 
 
 " Seclusion ? Li vin' shut up, you mean ? Why, 
 don't ye see, he believed the mouse was the sperrit 
 o' the child leastways, the sperrit o' the child was 
 in it. You see, when he got back from the funeral 
 the first thing his eyes lit upon was that ere white 
 mouse; and it was white, you see, and that aint a 
 common colour for a mouse ; and it got into his head, 
 and couldn't get out, that that was Ella's sperrit. 
 It mought ha' ben, for all I can say ; but arter that 
 day, it was gone." 
 
 "You think the child's spirit might have been in 
 the mouse? 
 
 " Who knows? I never say nothin' I don't know, 
 nor deny nothin' I du know; aint that a good 
 principle?" 
 
 "But you know better than that, Mr. Midgin, 
 Baid Lois.
 
 THE CARPENTER. 337 
 
 " Wall, I don't ! Maybe you do, Lois ; but accord- 
 in' to my lights I dorit know. You'll hev 'em wal- 
 nut, won't you? that'll look more like furniture." 
 
 " Are you coming ? The wagon's here, Lois," 
 said Madge, opening the door. " Is Mrs. Barclay 
 ready?" 
 
 " Will be in two minutes,' replied that lady. 
 "Yes, Mr. Midgin, let them be walnut; and good 
 evening ! Yes, Lois, 1 am quite roused up now, and 
 I will go with you. I will walk, dear; I prefer it."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ROAST PIG. 
 
 MKS. BARCLAY seemed to have entirely regained 
 her usual composure and even her usual spir- 
 its, which indeed were never high. She said she 
 enjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in com- 
 pany, Madge having gone with her grandmother 
 and Charity in Mrs. Marx's wagon. The winter 
 evening was falling grey, and the grey was growing 
 dark; and there was something in the dusky still- 
 ness and soft, half-defined lines of the landscape, 
 with the sharp, crisp air which suited the mood of 
 both ladies. The stars were not visible yet; the 
 western horizon had still a glow left from the sun- 
 set; and houses and trees stood like dark solemn 
 ghosts along the way before the end of the walk 
 was reached. They talked hardly at all, but Mrs. 
 Barclay said when she got to Mrs. Marx's that the 
 walk had been delightful. 
 
 At Mrs. Marx's all was in holiday perfection of 
 order; though that was the normal condition of 
 things, indeed, where that lady ruled. The paint 
 
 of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets 
 
 (338)
 
 ROAST PIG. 339 
 
 were thick and bright ; the table was set with great 
 care ; the great chimney in the upper kitchen where 
 the supper was prepared, was magnificent with its 
 blazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best 
 parlour, where the guests were first received; but 
 supper was ready, and they adjourned to the next 
 room. There the table invited them most hospita- 
 bly, loaded with dainties such as people in the coun- 
 try can get at Christmas time. One item of the 
 entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a 
 roast pig; its brown and glossy back making a very 
 conspicuous object at one side of the board. 
 
 " I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the 
 satisfied hostess; for she knew the pig was done 
 to a turn ; " and anything you don't expect tastes 
 twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n any- 
 thing; and I think myself it's about the top sheaf. 
 I suppose nothin' can be a surprise to Mrs. 
 Barclay." 
 
 " Why do you suppose so ? " asked that lady. 
 
 " I thought you'd seen everything there was in 
 the world, and a little more." 
 
 " Never saw a roast pig before in my life. But 
 I have read of them." 
 
 "Head of them!" exclaimed their hostess. "In 
 a cook book, likely?" 
 
 "Alas, I never read a cook book ! " 
 
 " No more didn't I ; but you'll excuse me, I didn't, 
 believe you carried it all in your head, like we 
 folks." 
 
 " I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean
 
 340 NOBOD\ . 
 
 the art of cookery. I have a profound respect for 
 it ; but I know nothing about it whatever." 
 
 "Well, you're right to have a respect for it 
 Uncle Tim, do you just give Mrs. Barclay some of 
 the best of that pig, and let us see how she likes 
 it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; 
 and plenty of the crackle. Mother, it's done just 
 as you used to do it." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. 
 Mrs. Armadale sat at the end of the table; placid 
 and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclay 
 her aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did 
 not smile much, yet she looked kindly over her 
 assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother; 
 Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent 
 New England mingling of the shrewd and the 
 benevolent in his face; and he was a much more 
 jolly personage than his sister; younger than she, 
 too, and still vigorous. Unlike her also, he was a 
 handsome man; had been very handsome in his 
 young days; and as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over 
 the table, she thought few could shew a better 
 assemblage of comeliness than was gathered round 
 this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in her 
 well-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain 
 brown stuff seem resplendent; she had a little 
 fleecy white woollen shawl wound about her shoul- 
 ders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes 
 away from the girl. And if the other members 
 of the party were less beautiful in feature, they 
 had every one of them in a high degree the stamp
 
 ROAST PIG. 341 
 
 of intellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay specu- 
 lated upon the strange society in which she found 
 herself; upon the odd significance of her being 
 there ; and on the possible outcome, weighty and 
 incalculable, of the connection of the two things. 
 So intently that she almost forgot what she was 
 eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's sudden ques- 
 tion "Well, how do you like it? Charity, give 
 Mrs. Barclay some pickles what she likes ; there's 
 sweet pickle, that's peaches; and sharp pickle, 
 that's red cabbage ; and I don' know which of 'em 
 she likes best; and give her some apple have you 
 got any apple sauce, Mrs. Barclay ? " 
 
 "Thank you, everything; and everything is 
 delicious." 
 
 " That's how things are gen'ally, in Mrs. Marx's 
 hands," remarked uncle Tim. "There aint her 
 beat for sweets and sours in all the country." 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay's accustomed to another, sort o* 
 doings," said their hostess. " I didn't know but 
 she mightn't like our ways." 
 
 " I like them very much, I assure you." 
 
 " There aint no better ways than Shampuashuh 
 ways," said uncle Tim. " If there be, I'd like to 
 see 'em oftce. Lois, you never see a handsomer 
 dinner'n this in New York, did you ? Come now, 
 and tell. Did you?" 
 
 " I never saw a dinner where things were better 
 of their kind, uncle Tim." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay smiled to herself. That will do, 
 she thought.
 
 342 NOBODY. 
 
 "Is that an answer?" said uncle Tim. "I'll be 
 shot if I know." 
 
 " It is as good an answer as I can give," returned 
 Lois smiling. 
 
 "Of course she has seen handsomer!" said Mrs. 
 Marx. " If you talk of elegance, we don't pretend 
 to it in Shampuashuh. Be thankful if what yon 
 have got is good, uncle Tim; and leave the rest." 
 
 " Well, I don't understand," responded uncle 
 Tim. "Why shouldn't Shampuashuh be elegant, 
 I don't see? Aint this elegant enough for any- 
 body ? " 
 
 " 'Taint elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. " If this 
 was in one o' the elegant places, there'd be a bunch 
 o' flowers in the pig's mouth, an<l a ring on his 
 tail." 
 
 At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's 
 gravity gave way ; and a perfect echo of laughter 
 went round the table. 
 
 " Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at 
 nor what you mean," said the object of their merri- 
 ment; "but I should uncommonly like to know." 
 
 "Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, " what a dinner 
 in New York is like. You never did tell him." 
 
 " Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentle- 
 man. "I thought a dinner was a dinner; but I'm 
 willin' to learn." 
 
 " Tell him, Lois ! " Madge repeated. 
 
 " It would be very stupid for Mrs. Barclay," Lois 
 objected. 
 
 " On the contrary ! " said that lady. " I should
 
 ROAST PIG. 343 
 
 very much like to hear your description. It is 
 interesting to hear what is familiar to us described 
 by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois." 
 
 " I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim,", said 
 Lois after a moment of consideration. "AU dinners 
 in New York, you must understand, are not like 
 this; this was a grand dinner." 
 
 " Christmas eve ? " suggested uncle Tim. 
 
 "No. I was not there at Christmas; this was 
 just a party. There were twelve at table. 
 
 "In the first place, there was an oval plate of 
 looking glass, as long as this table not quite so 
 broad that took up the whole centre of the table." 
 Here Lois was interrupted. 
 
 " Looking glass ! " cried uncle Tim. 
 
 "Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?" 
 Baid Charity. 
 
 " Looking glass to set the hot dishes on ? " said 
 Mrs. Marx, to whom this story seemed new. 
 
 "No; not to set anything on. It took up the 
 whole centre of the table. Round the edge of 
 this looking glass, all round, was a border or little 
 fence of solid silver, about six or eight inches 
 high; of beautiful wrought openwork; and just 
 within this silver fence, at intervals, stood most 
 exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot 
 and a half high. There must have been a dozen 
 of them ; and anything more beautiful than the 
 whole thing was, you cannot imagine." 
 
 " I should think they'd have been awfully in the 
 way," remarked Charity.
 
 44 NOBODY. 
 
 "Not at all; there was room enough all round 
 outside for the plates and glasses." 
 
 " The looking glass, I suppose, was for the pretty 
 ladies to see themselves in ! " 
 
 " Quite mistaken, uncle Tim ; one could not see 
 tbs reflection of oneself; only bits of one's opposite 
 neighbours; little flashes of colour here and there; 
 and the reflection of the statuettes on the further 
 side; it was prettier than over you can think." 
 
 " I reckon it must ha' been ; but I don't see the 
 Tise of it," said uncle Tim. 
 
 " That wasn't all," Lois went on. " Everybody 
 had his own salt-cellar." 
 
 " Table must ha' been full, I should say." 
 
 " No, it was not full at all ; there was plenty of 
 room for everything, and that allowed every 
 pretty thing to be seen. And those salt-cellars 
 were a study. They were delicious little silver 
 figures every one different from the others and 
 each little figure presented the salt in something. 
 Mine was a little girl, with her apron all gathered 
 up, as if to hold nuts or apples, and the salt was in 
 her apron. The one next to her was a market- 
 woman with a flat basket on her head, and the 
 salt was in the basket. Another was a man bow- 
 ing, with his hat in his hand; the salt was in the 
 hat. I could not see them all, but each one seem- 
 ed prettier than the other. One was a man stand- 
 ing by a well, with a bucket drawn up, but full of 
 salt, not water. A very pretty one was a milkman 
 with a pail."
 
 ROAST PIG. 345 
 
 Uncle Tim was now reduced to silence, but 
 Charity remarked that she could not understand 
 where the dishes were the dinner. 
 
 " It was somewhere else. It was not on the ta- 
 ble at all. The waiters brought the things -round. 
 There were six waiters, handsomely dressed in 
 black, and with white silk gloves." 
 
 "White silk gloves!" echoed Charity. "Well, 
 I do think the way some people live is just a sin 
 and a shame ! " 
 
 " How did you know what there was for dinner?" 
 inquired Mrs. Marx now. " I shouldn't like to make 
 my dinner of boiled beef, if there was partridges 
 comin'. And when there's plum puddin' I always 
 like to know it beforehand." 
 
 "We knew everything beforehand, aunt Anne. 
 There were beautifully painted little pieces of white 
 silk on everybody's plate, with all the dishes named ; 
 only many, most, of them were French names, and 
 I was none the wiser for them." 
 
 "Can't they call good victuals by English 
 names?" asked uncle Tim. "What's the sense o' 
 that? How was anybody to know what he was 
 eatin'?" 
 
 " they all knew," said Lois. " Except me." 
 
 " I'll bet you were the only sensible one o' the 
 lot," said the old gentleman. 
 
 ''Then at every plate there was a beautiful cut 
 glass bottle, something like a decanter, with ice 
 water, and over the mouth of it a tumbler to 
 match. Besides that, there were at each plate
 
 346 NOBODY. 
 
 five or six other goblets or glasses, of different 
 colours." 
 
 " What colours ? " demanded Charity. 
 
 " Yellow, and dark red, and green, and white." 
 
 *' What were they all for ? " asked uncle Tim. 
 
 "Wine; different sorts of wine." 
 
 " Different sorts o' wine ! How many sorts did 
 they have, at one dinner ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you. I do not know. A great 
 many." 
 
 " Did you drink any, Lois ? " 
 
 " No, aunt Anne." 
 
 " I suppose they thought you were a real coun- 
 try girl, because you didn't ? " 
 
 "Nobody thought anything about it. The ser- 
 vants brought the wine; everybody did just as he 
 pleased about taking it" 
 
 " What did you have to eat, Lois, with so much 
 to drink ? " asked, her elder sister. 
 
 " More than I can tell, Charity. There must 
 have been a dozen large dishes, at each end of the 
 table, besides the soup and the fish; and no end of 
 smaller dishes." 
 
 " For a dozen people ! " cried Charity. 
 
 " I suppose it's because I don't know anythin'," 
 said Mr. Hotchkiss, "but I always du hate to 
 see a whole lot o' things before me more'n I can 
 eat!" 
 
 " It's downright wicked waste, that's what I call 
 it," said Mrs. Marx; "but 1 s'pose that's because I 
 don't know anvthin'."
 
 ROAST PIG. 347 
 
 " And you like that sort o' way better 'n this 'n?" 
 inquired uncle Tim of Lois. 
 
 " I said no more than that it was prettier, uncle 
 Tim." 
 
 "Butdwye?" 
 
 Lois's eye met involuntarily Mrs. Barclay's for 
 an instant, and she smiled. 
 
 " Uncle Tim, I think there is something to be 
 said on both sides." 
 
 " There aint no sense on that side." 
 
 "There is some prettiness; and I like prettiness. n 
 
 "Prettiness won't butter nobody's bread. Mo- 
 ther, you've let Lois go once too often among those 
 city folks. She's nigh about sp'iled for a Shamp- 
 uashuh man, now." 
 
 " Perhaps a Shampuashuh man will not get her," 
 said Mrs. Barclay mischievously. 
 
 "Who else is to get her?" cried Mrs. Marx. 
 "We're all o' one sort here; and there's hardly 
 a man but what's respectable, and very few that 
 aint more or less well-to-do ; but we all work and 
 mean to work, and we mostly all know our own 
 mind. I do despise a man who don't do nothin', 
 and who asks other folks what he's to think ! " 
 
 "That sort of person is not held in very high 
 esteem in any society, I believe," said Mrs. Barclay 
 courteously; though she was much amused, and 
 was willing for her own reasons that the talk 
 should go a little further. Therefore she spoke. 
 
 " Well, idleness breeds 'em," said the other lady 
 
 "But who respects them.?"
 
 348 NOBODv. 
 
 " The world'll respect anybody, even a man that 
 goes with his hands in his pockets, if he only can 
 fetch 'em out full o' money. There was such a 
 feller hangin' round Appledore last summer. My ! 
 didn't he try my patience ! " 
 
 " Appledore ? " said Lois pricking up her ears. 
 
 "Yes; there was a lot of 'em." 
 
 " People who did not know their own minds ? " 
 Airs. Barclay asked, purposely and curiously. 
 
 " Well, no, I won't say that of all of 'em. There 
 was some of 'em knew their own minds a'inost 
 too well ; but he warn't one. He come to me once 
 to help him out ; and I filled his pipe for him, and 
 sent him to smoke it." 
 
 "Aunt Anne ! '' said Lois, drawing up her pret- 
 ty figure with a most unwonted assumption of 
 astonished dignity. Both the dignity and the 
 astonishment drew all eyes upon her. She was 
 looking at Mrs. Marx with eyes full of startled 
 displeasure. Mrs. Marx was intrenched behind 
 a whole army of coffee and tea pots and pitchers, 
 and answered coolly. 
 
 "Yes. I did. What is it to you? Did he 
 come to you for help too ? " 
 
 "I do not know whom you are talking o" 
 
 Oh ! "said Mrs. Marx. " I thought you did. 
 Before I'd have you marry such a soft feller as 
 that, I'd I'd shoot him ! " 
 
 There was some laughter, but Lois did not join 
 in it, and with heightened colour was attending 
 very busily to her supper.
 
 ROAST PIG. 49 
 
 "Was the poor man looking that way?" asked 
 Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " He was lookin' two ways," said Mrs. Marx ; 
 " and when a man's doin' that, he don't fetch up 
 nowhere, you bet. I'd like to know what becomes 
 of him ! They were all of the sort Lois has been 
 tellin' of; thought a deal o' 'prettiness.' I do think, 
 the way some people live, is a way to shame the 
 flies; and I don't know nothin' in creation more 
 useless than they be ! " 
 
 Mrs. Marx could speak better English, but the 
 truth was, when she got much excited she forgot 
 her grammar. 
 
 " But at a watering place," remarked Mrs. Bar- 
 clay, "you do not expect people to shew their use- 
 ful side. They are out for play and amusement." 
 
 "I can play too," said the hostess; "but my play 
 always has some meaning to it. Did I tell you, 
 mother, what that lady was doing?" 
 
 " I thought you were speaking of a gentleman," 
 said quiet Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " Well, there was a lady too ; and she was doin' 
 a piece o' work. It was a beautiful piece of grey 
 satin ; thick and handsome as you ever see ; and she 
 was sewin' gold thread upon it with fine gold- 
 coloured silk; fine gold thread; and it went one 
 way straight and another way round, curling and 
 crinkling, like nothin' on earth but a spider's web; 
 all over the grey satin. I watched her a while, 
 and then, says I, ' what are you doin', if you 
 please ? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't make
 
 350 NOBODY. 
 
 out.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover 
 for a bellows.' ' For a what ? ' says I. ' For a 
 bellows,' says she; 'a bellows, to blow the fire with. 
 Don't you know what they are ? ' ' Yes,' says I ; 
 'I've seen a fire bellows before now; but in our 
 part o' the country we don't cover 'em with satin.' 
 ' No,' says she, ' I suppose not.' ' I would just 
 like to ask one more question,' says I. ' Well, you 
 may,' says she; 'what is it?' 'I would just like 
 to know,' says I, ' what the fire is made of that 
 you blow with a satin and gold bellows?' And 
 she laughed a little. ''Cause,' says I, 'it ought 
 to be somethin' that won't soil a kid glove and that 
 won't give out no sparks nor smoke.' ' 0,' says 
 she, ' nobody really blows the fire ; only the bellows 
 have come into fashion, along with the fire dogs, 
 wherever people have an open fireplace and a wood 
 fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't 
 guess; but I thought I wouldn't expose any more o' 
 my ignorance. Now, mother, how would you like 
 to have Lois in a house like that ? where people 
 don't know any better what to do with their im- 
 mortal lives than to make satin covers for bellows 
 they don't want to blow the fire with ! and dish 
 up dinner enough for twelve people, to feed a 
 hundred ? " 
 
 " Lois will never bt in a house like that," re- 
 sponded the old lady contentedly. 
 
 "Then it's just as well if you keep her away 
 from the places where they make so much ofpretti- 
 I can tell you. Lois is human."
 
 ROAST PIG. 351 
 
 "Lois is Christian," said Mrs. Armadale; "and 
 she knows her duty." 
 
 "Well, it's heart-breakin' work, to know one's 
 duty, sometimes," said Mrs. Marx. 
 
 "But you do not think, I hope, that one is a 
 pattern for all?" said Mrs. Barclay. "There are 
 exceptions; it is not everybody in the great world 
 that lives to no purpose." 
 
 " If that's what you call the great world, I call it 
 mighty small, then. If I didn't know anything 
 better to do with myself than to work sprangles o' 
 gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', 
 I'd go down to Fairhaven and hire myself out to 
 open oysters ! and think I made by the bargain. 
 Anyhow I'd respect myself better." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by the great 
 world," said uncle Tim. " Be there two on em ? a 
 big and a little ? " 
 
 " Don't you see, all Shampuashuh would go in 
 one o' those houses Lois was tellin' about? and if it 
 got there, I expect they wouldn't give it house 
 room." 
 
 " The worlds are not so different as you think," 
 Mrs. Barclay went on courteously. " Human na- 
 ture is the same everywhere." 
 
 " Well, I guess likely," responded Mrs. Marx. 
 "Mother, if you've done, we'll go into the other 
 room."
 
 CHAPTEK XXVI. 
 
 SCRUPLES. 
 
 THE next day was Christmas; but in the country 
 of Shampuashuh Christmas, though a holiday, 
 was not held in so high regard as it receives in 
 many other quarters of the earth. There was no 
 service in the church; and after dinner Lois came 
 as usual to draw in Mrs. Barclay's room. 
 
 " I did not understand some of your aunt's talk 
 last evening," Mrs. Barclay remarked after a while. 
 
 " I am not surprised at that," said Lois. 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 " yes. I understand aunt Anne." 
 
 " Does she really think that all the people who 
 like pretty things, lead useless lives ? " 
 
 " She does not care so much about pretty things 
 as I do," said Lois slightly. 
 
 " But does she think all who belong to the ' great 
 world ' are evil ? given up to wickedness ? " 
 
 "Not so bad as that," Lois answered smiling; 
 "but naturally aunt Anne does not understand any 
 world but this of Shampuashuh," 
 (352)
 
 SCRUPLES. 353 
 
 "I understood her to assume that under no cir- 
 cumstances could you marry one of the great world 
 she was talking of?" 
 
 " Well," said Lois, " I suppose she thinks that 
 one of them would not be a Christian." 
 
 "You mean, an Enthusiast." 
 
 "No," said Lois; "but I mean, and she means, 
 one who is in heart a true servant of Christ. He 
 might, or he might not, be enthusiastic." 
 
 " And would you marry no one who was not a 
 Christian, as you understand the word ? " 
 
 " The Bible forbids it," said Lois, her colour ris- 
 ing a little. 
 
 "The Bible forbids it? I have not studied the 
 Bible like you; but I have heard it read from the 
 pulpit all my life; and I never heard, either from 
 the pulpit or out of it, such an idea, as that one 
 who is a Christian may not marry one who is 
 not." 
 
 " I can shew you the command in more places 
 than one," said Lois. 
 
 " I wish you would." 
 
 Lois left her drawing and fetched a'Bible. 
 
 "It is forbidden in the Old Testament and in 
 the New," she said; "but I will shew you a place 
 in the New. Here it is in the second Epistle to 
 the Corinthians 'Be not unequally yoked to- 
 gether with unbelievers ; ' and it goes on to give 
 the reason." 
 
 " Unbelievers ! But those, in that day, were 
 heathen "
 
 354 NOBODY. 
 
 "Yes," said Lois simply, going on with her 
 drawing. 
 
 " There are no heathen now, not here." 
 
 "I suppose that makes no difference. It is the 
 party which will not obey and serve Christ; and 
 which is working against him. In that day they 
 worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they wor- 
 ship a different sort. They do not worship him; 
 and there are but two parties." 
 
 "No neutrals?" 
 
 " No. The Bible says not." 
 
 "But what is being 'yoked together'? what 
 do you understand is forbidden by that? Mar- 
 riage ? " 
 
 "Any connection, I suppose, said Lois looking 
 up, "in which two people are forced to pull to- 
 gether. You know what a 'yoke' is?" 
 
 "And you can smile at that, you wicked girl?" 
 
 Lois laughed now. " Why not ? " she said. " 1 
 have not much fancy for putting my head in a 
 yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pull differ- 
 ent ways, must be very miserable ! " 
 
 "You forget; you might draw somebody else 
 to go the right way." 
 
 " That would depend upon who was the strong- 
 
 st." 
 
 " True," said Mrs. Barclay. "But my dear Lois! 
 you do not suppose that a rnan cannot belong to 
 the world and yet be what you call a Christian? 
 That would be very uncharitable." 
 
 " I do not want to be uncharitable," said Lois.
 
 bCRUPLES. 355 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay, it is extremely difficult to mark the 
 foliage of different sorts of trees ! " 
 
 " Yes, but you are making a very good begin- 
 ning. Lois, do you know, you are fitting to be the 
 wife of just one of that world you are condemning 
 cultivated, polished, full of accomplishments and 
 graces, and fine and refined tastes." 
 
 "Then he would be very dangerous," said Lois, 
 ''if he were not a Christian. He might have all 
 that, and yet be a Christian too." 
 
 "Suppose he were not; would you refuse him?" 
 
 " 1 hope I should," said Lois. But her questioner 
 noticed that this answer was soberly given. 
 
 That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 " I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the 
 letter said, " that I have known for a very long 
 time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought to con- 
 fess it ; whether I ought not to declare myself tired 
 of Shampuashuh, and throw up my cards. I feel 
 a little like an honest swindler, using your money, 
 not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I 
 should never get tired of the place or the people. 
 Every one of them, indeed almost every one that I 
 see, is a character; and here, where there is less 
 varnish, the grain of the wood shews more plainly. 
 I have had a most original carpenter here to meas- 
 ure for my book-shelves, only yesterday; for my 
 room is running over with books. N'ot only ev- 
 erybody is a character, but nearly everybody has 
 a good mixture of what is admirable in his com- 
 position; and as for these two girls well, I am
 
 356 . NOBODY. 
 
 even more in love than you are, Philip. The eldei 
 is the handsomer, perhaps; she is very handsome; 
 but your favourite is my favourite. Lois is lovely. 
 There is a strange, fresh, simple, undefinable charm 
 about the girl, that makes one her captive. Even 
 me, a woman. She wins upon me daily with her 
 sweet unconscious ways. But nevertheless, I am 
 uneasy when I remember what I am here for, and 
 what you are expecting. I fear I am acting the 
 part of an innocent swindler, as I said; little better. 
 " In one way there is no disappointment to be 
 looked for. These girls are both gifted with a 
 great capacity and aptitude for mental growth. 
 Lois especially, for she cares more to go into the 
 depths of things; but both of them grow fast, and 
 I can see the change almost from day to day. 
 Tastes are waking up, and eager for gratification ; 
 there is no limit to the intellectual hunger or the 
 power of assimilation; the winter is one of very 
 great enjoyment to them (as to me !) and there is, 
 and that has been from the first, a refinement of 
 manner which surprised me, but that too is growing. 
 And yet, with all this, which promises so much, 
 there is another element which threatens discomfi- 
 ture to our hopes. I must not conceal it from you. 
 These people are regular Puritans. They think 
 now, in this age of the world, to regulate their 
 behaviour entirely by the Bible. You are of a dif- 
 ferent type; and I am persuaded that the whole 
 family would regard an alliance with a man like 
 you as an unlawful thing; ay, though he were a
 
 SCRUPLES. 457 
 
 prince or a Rothschild, it would make no difference 
 in their view of the thing. For here is independ- 
 ence, pure and absolute. The family is very poor; 
 they are glad of the money I pay them ; but they 
 would not bend their heads before the prestige of 
 wealth, or do what they think wrong to gain any 
 human favour or any earthly advantage. And Lois 
 is like the rest; quite as firm; in fact some of these 
 gentle women have a power of saying ' no ' which 
 is only a little less than fearful. I can not tell 
 what love would do; but I do not believe it would 
 break down her principle. We had a talk lately 
 on this very subject; she was very firm. 
 
 " I think t ought not to conceal from you that 
 I have doubts on another question. We were at a 
 family supper party last night at an aunt's house. 
 She is a character too; a kind of a grenadier of a 
 woman, in nature, not looks. The house and the 
 entertainment were very interesting to me; the 
 mingling of things was very striking that one 
 does not expect to find in connection. For in- 
 stance the appointments of the table were, as of 
 course they would be, of no pretension to style or 
 elegance; clumsily comfortable, was all you could 
 say. And the cooking was delicately fine. Then, 
 mariners and language were somewhat lacking in 
 polish, to put it mildly; and- the tone of thought 
 and the qualities of mind and character exhibited, 
 were very far above what I have heard often in 
 circles of great pretension. Once the conversation 
 got upon the contrasting ways of life in this society
 
 358 NOBODY. 
 
 and in what is called the world ; the latter, I confess 
 to you, met, with some hard treatment; and the idea 
 was rejected with scorn that one of the girls should 
 ever be tempted out of her own sphere into the 
 other. All this is of no consequence; but what 
 struck me was a hint or two that Lois had been 
 tempted ; and a pretty plain assertion that this aunt, 
 who it seems was at Appledore last summer nurs- 
 ing Mrs. Wishart, had received some sort of orer- 
 ture or advance on Lois's behalf and had rejected 
 it. This was evidently news to Lois; and she 
 shewed so much startled displeasure in her face, 
 for she said almost nothing that the suspicion was 
 forced upon me, there might have been more in the 
 matter than the aunt knew. Who was at Apple- 
 dore ? a friend of yours, was it not ? and are you 
 sure he did not gain some sort of lien upon this 
 heart which you are so keen to win ? I owe it to 
 you to set you upon this inquiry; for if I know any- 
 thing of the girl she is as true and as unbending as 
 steel. What she holds she will hold ; what she loves 
 she will love, I believe, to the end. So before we 
 go any further, let us find whether we have ground 
 to go on. No, I would not have you come here at 
 present. Not in any case; and certainly not in this 
 uncertainty. You are too wise to wish it." 
 
 Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was 
 too wiso to give the rein to his wishes. He staid 
 in New York all winter, contenting himself with 
 sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing 
 that could make Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant,
 
 SCRUPLES. 359 
 
 or help her to make it useful to her two young 
 friends. .A fine Chickering piano arrived between 
 Christinas and New Year's day, and was set up 
 in the space left for it between the bookshelves. 
 Books continued to flow in; books of all sorts; 
 science and art, history and biography, poetry and 
 general literature. And Lois would have devel- 
 oped into a bookworm, had not the piano exer- 
 cised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening 
 to Mrs. Barclay's music at first was an absorbing 
 pleasure; then Mrs. Barclay asked casually one day 
 " Shall I teach you ? " 
 
 " Oh, you could not ! " was Lois's answer, given 
 with a breath and a flush of excitement. 
 
 "Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay smiling. "You 
 might learn at least enough to accompany your- 
 self. I have never heard your voice. Have you a 
 voice ? " 
 
 " I do not know what you would call a voice," said 
 Lois smiling. 
 
 " But you sing ? " 
 
 " Hymns. Nothing else." 
 
 " Have you a hymn book? with music, I mean ? 
 
 Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the ac- 
 companiment of a familiar hyrnn, and Lois sang. 
 
 "My dear," exclaimed the former when she had 
 done, " that is delicious ! " 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "Your voice is very fine; it has a peculiar and 
 uncommon richness. O you must let me train that 
 voice.'
 
 360 NOBODY. 
 
 " I should like to sing hymns as well as I can," 
 Lois answered, flushing somewhat. . 
 
 " You would like to sing other things, too." 
 
 "Songs?" 
 
 "Yes. Some songs are beautiful." 
 
 " I never liked much those I have aeard." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " They seemed rather foolish." 
 
 "Did they! The 'choice must have been unfor- 
 tunate. Where did you hear them ? " 
 
 " In New York. In company there. The voices 
 were sometimes delightful; but the words " 
 
 Well, the words ? " 
 
 " I wondered how they could like to sing them. 
 There was nothing in them but nonsense." 
 
 " You are a very severe critic ! " 
 
 "No " said Lois deprecatingly; "but I think 
 hymns are so much better." 
 
 " Well, we will see. Songs are not the first thing; 
 your voice must be trained." 
 
 So a new element came into the busy life of that 
 winter; and music now made demands on time and 
 attention which Lois found it a little difficult to 
 meet, without abridging the long reading hours 
 and diligent studies to which she had hitherto 
 been giving all her spare time. But the piano 
 was so alluring ! And every morsel of real music 
 that Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. 
 To Lois; Madge did not care about it, except for the 
 wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay's fingers fly over the 
 keys; and Charity took quite a different view again.
 
 SCRUPLES. 36* 
 
 " Mother," she said one evening to the old ladj 
 whom they often called BO, "don't it seem to you 
 that Lois is gettin' turned round ? " 
 
 " How, my dear ? " 
 
 " Well, it aint like the Lois we used to have. 
 She's rushin' at books, from morning to night, or 
 B3ritch-scratching on a slate; and the rest o' the 
 time she's like nothin' but the girl in the song, 
 that had ' bells on her fingers and rings on her 
 toes.' I hear that piano-forty going at all hours ; 
 it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's the 
 good of all that ? " 
 
 " What's the harm ? " said Lois. 
 
 " What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud 
 think she had come here just on purpose to teach 
 Madge and you; for she don't do anything else. 
 What's it all for? that's what I'd like to be told." 
 
 " I'm sure she's very kind," said Madge. 
 
 " Mother, do you like it ? " 
 
 " What is the harm in what we are doing, Char- 
 ity?" asked her younger sister. 
 
 " If a thing aint good it's always harm ! " 
 
 " But these things are good." 
 
 "Maybe good for some folks; they aint good for 
 you." 
 
 "I wish you would say 'are not,'" said Lois. 
 
 "There!" said Charity. "There it is! You're 
 pilin' one thing on top of another, till your head 
 won't stand it; and the house won't be high enough 
 for you by and by. All these ridiculous ways, of 
 oeople that think themselves too nice for common
 
 362 NOBODY. 
 
 things ! and you've lived all your life among com- 
 mon things, and are going to live all your life 
 among them. And mother, all this French and 
 music will just make Lois discontented. You see if 
 it don't" 
 
 "Do I act discontented?" Lois asked with a 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 " Does she leave any of her work for you to do, 
 Charity ? " said Madge. 
 
 " Wait till the spring opens and garden must be 
 made," said Charity. 
 
 " I should never think of leaving that to you to 
 do, Charity," said Lois laughing. " We should have 
 a poor chance of a garden." 
 
 " Mother, I wish you'd stop it." 
 
 Mrs. Armadale said however nothing at the time. 
 But the next chance she had when she and her 
 youngest granddaughter were alone she said, 
 
 " Lois, are you in danger of lettin' your pleasure 
 make you forget your duty ? " 
 
 " I hope not, grandmother. I do not think it. 
 1 take these things to be duty. I think one ought 
 always to learn anything one has an opportunity 
 of learning?" 
 
 " One thing is needful " said the old lady, 
 doubtfully, 
 
 " Yes, grandmother. I do not forget that." 
 
 " You don't want to learn the ways of the world, 
 Lois." 
 
 "No, grandmother."
 
 CHAFfER XXVII. 
 
 ^ PEAS AND RADISHES. 
 
 MR. DILLWYN, as I said, did not come near 
 Shampuashuh. He took his indemnification 
 in sending all sorts of pleasant things. Papers and 
 magazines overflowed, flowed over into Mrs. Marx's 
 hands and made her life rich; flowed over again 
 into Mr. Hotch'kiss's hands and embroidered his 
 life for him. Mr. Dillwyn sent fruit; foreign fruit, 
 strange and delicious, which it was a sort of edu- 
 cation even to eat, bringing one nearer to the 
 countries so far and unknown, where it grew. He 
 sent music; and if some of it passed under Lois's* 
 ban as " nonsense," that was not the case with the 
 greater part. " She has a marvellous true appreci- 
 ation of what is fine," Mrs. Barclay wrote; "and 
 she rejects with an accuracy which surprises me 
 all that is merely pretty and flashy. There are 
 some bits of Handel that have great power over 
 the girl; she listens to them I might almost say 
 devoutly, and is never weary. Madge is delighted 
 with Rossini; but Lois gives her adherence to the 
 
 (363)
 
 364 NOBODY. 
 
 German classics, and when I play Haydn or Mo- 
 zart or Mendelssohn, stands rapt in her' delighted 
 listening, and looking like well, I will not tanta- 
 lize yon by trying to describe to you what I see 
 every day. I marvel only where the girl got these 
 tastes and susceptibilities; it must be blood; 1 oe- 
 lieve in inheritance. She has had until now no 
 training or experience; but your bird is growing 
 her wings fast now, Philip. If you can manage 
 to cage her ! Natures hereabout are no tame, by 
 any means." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn, I believe I mentioned, sent engrav- 
 ings, and exquisite photographs; and these almost 
 rivalled Haydn and Mozart in Lois's mind. For 
 various reasons Mrs. Barclay sought to make at 
 least this source of pleasure common to the whole 
 family; and would often invite them all into her 
 room, or carry her portfolio out into their general 
 sitting-room, and display to the eyes of them all 
 the views of foreign lands; cities, castles and 
 ruins, palaces and temples, Swiss mountains and 
 Scotch lochs, Paris Boulevards and Venetian ca- 
 nals, together with remains of ancient art and 
 works of modern artists; of all which Philip sent 
 an unbounded number and variety. These even- 
 ings were unendingly curious to Mrs. Barclay. 
 Comment was free, and undoubtedly original, 
 whatever else might be said of it; and character, 
 and the habit of life of her audience, were un- 
 consciously revealed to her. Intense curiosity 
 and eagerness for information were observable in
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 365 
 
 them all; but tastes, and the power of apprehen- 
 sion, and receptiveness towards new and strange 
 ideas, and the judgment passed upon things, were 
 very different in the different members of the 
 group. These exhibitions had further one good 
 effect, not unintended by the exhibitor; they 
 brought the whole family somewhat in tone with 
 the new life to which two of its members were 
 rising. It was not desirable that Lois should be 
 too far in advance of her people, or rather, that 
 they should be too far behind her. The ques- 
 tions propounded to Mrs. Barclay on these occa- 
 sions, and the elucidations she found it desirable 
 to give without questions, transformed her part 
 into that of a lecturer; and the end of such an 
 evening would find her tired with her exertions, 
 yet well repaid for them. The old grandmother 
 manifested great curiosity, great admiration, with 
 frequently an expression of doubt or disapproval ; 
 and very often a strange, slight, inexpressible air 
 of one who felt herself to belong to a different 
 world, to which all these things were more or less 
 foreign. Charity shewed also intense eagerness 
 and curiosity, and inquisitiveness ; and mingled 
 with those, a very perceptible flavour of incredu- 
 lity or of disdain, the latter possibly born of envy. 
 But Lois and Madge were growing, with ever} 
 journey to distant lands and every new introduc- 
 tion to the great works of men's hands, of every 
 kind and of every age. 
 
 After receiving that letter of Mrs. Barclay's men
 
 366 NOBODY. 
 
 tioned in the last chapter, Philip Dillwyii would im- 
 mediately have attacked Tom Caruthers again on the 
 question of his liking for Miss Lothrop, to find out 
 whether possibly there were any the least founda- 
 tion for Mrs. Barclay's scruples and fears. But it 
 was no longer in his power. The Caruthers family 
 had altered their plans; and instead of going abroad 
 in the spring, had taken their departure with the 
 first of December, after an impromptu wedding 
 of Julia to her betrothed. Mr. Dillwyn did not 
 seriously believe that there was anything his plan 
 had to fear from this side; nevertheless, he pre- 
 ferred not to move in the dark; and he waited. 
 Besides, he must allow time for the work he had 
 sent Mrs. Barclay to do; to hurry matters would 
 be to spoil everything; and it was much better 
 on every ground that he should keep away from 
 Shampuashuh. As I said, he busied himself with 
 Shampuashuh affairs all he could, and wore out 
 the winter as he best might; which was not very 
 satisfactorily. And when spring carne he resolutely 
 carried out his purpose and sailed for Europe. Till 
 at least a year had gone by he would not try to 
 see Lois; Mrs. Barclay should have a year at least 
 to push her beneficent influence and bring her edu- 
 cational efforts to some visible result ; he would keep 
 away ; but it would be much easier to keep away 
 if the ocean lay between them, and he went to 
 Florence and northern Italy and the Adriatic. 
 
 Meanwhile the winter had " flown on soft wings" 
 at Shampuashuh. Every day seemed to be grow-
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 367 
 
 mg fuller and richer than its predecessors; every 
 day Lois arid Madge were more eager in the search 
 after knowledge and more ready for the reception 
 of i*: A change was going on in them, so swift 
 that Mrs. Barclay could almost see it from day to 
 day. Whether others saw r it I cannot tell; but Mrs. 
 Marx shook her head in the fear of it, and Charity 
 opined that the family " might whistle for a garden 
 and for butter and cheese next summer." Precious 
 opportunity of winter days, when no gardening 
 nor dairy work was possible ! and blessed long 
 nights and mornings, after sunset and before sun- 
 rise, when no housework of any sort -put in claims 
 upon the leisure of the two girls. There were no 
 interfuptions from without. In Shampuashuh so- 
 ciety could not be said to flourish. Beyond an 
 occasional " sewing society " meeting, and a much 
 more rare gathering for purely social purposes, noth- 
 ing more than a stray caller now and then broke 
 the rich quiet of those winter days; the time for 
 a tillage and a sowing and a growth far beyond 
 in preciousness all the "precious things put forth 
 by the sun " in the more genial time of the year. 
 But days began to become longer, nevertheless, 
 as the weeks went on; and daylight was pushing 
 those happy mornings and evenings into lesser and 
 lesser compass; and snow quite disappeared from 
 the fields, and buds began to swell on the trees 
 and take colour, and airs grew more gentle in 
 temperature; though I am bound to say there is 
 a sharpness sometimes in the nature of a Shamp-
 
 368 NOBODY. 
 
 uashuh spring, that quite outdoes all the greater 
 rigours of the winter that has gone. 
 
 " The frost is out of the ground ! " said Lois one 
 day to her friend. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Barclay innocently; "I sup- 
 pose that is a good thing." 
 
 Lois went on with her drawing and made no 
 answer. 
 
 But soon Mrs. Barclay began to perceive that les.s 
 reading and studying were done; or else some draw- 
 ing lingered on its way towards completion; and 
 the deficits became more and more striking. At 
 last she demanded the reason. 
 
 "O," said Madge, "the cows have come in, and I 
 have a good deal to do in the dairy now; it takes 
 up all my mornings. I'm so sorry, I don't know 
 what to do ! but the milk must be seen to, and the 
 butter churned, and then worked over; and it takes 
 time, Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 "And Lois?" * 
 
 " O Lois ie making garden." 
 
 " Making garden ! " 
 
 "Yes. O she always does it. It's her particular 
 part of the business. We all do a little of every- 
 thing; but the garden is Lois's special province, 
 and the dairy mine, and Charity t^.kes the cooking 
 and the sewing. we all do our own sewing, and 
 we all do grandmother's sewing; only Charity takes 
 the head in that department." 
 
 "\Vnat does Lois do in the garden?" 
 
 ** * ^erything. We get somebody to plough it
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 369 
 
 up in the fall; and in the spring we have it dug 
 over; but all the rest she does. We have a good 
 garden too," said Madge smiling. 
 
 "And these things take your morning and her 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Yes indeed; I should think they did. Rather! " 
 
 Mrs. Barclay held her peace, then and for some 
 time afterwards. The spring came on, the days be- 
 came soft and lovely, after March had blown itself 
 out; the trees began to put forth leaves, the blue 
 birds were darting about, like skyey messengers; 
 robins were whistling, and daffodils were bursting, 
 and grass was green. One lovely, warm morning, 
 when everything without seemed beckoning to her, 
 Mrs. Barclay threw on a shawl and hat and made 
 her way out to the old garden, which up to this 
 day she had never entered. 
 
 She found the great, wide enclosure looking 
 empty and bare enough. The two or three old 
 apple trees hung protectingly over the wooden 
 bench in the middle, their branches making pretty 
 tracery against the tender clear blue of the sky; 
 but no shade was there. The branches only 
 shewed a little token of swelling and bursting buds, 
 which indeed softened in a lovely manner the lines 
 of that interlacing network of branches, and prom- 
 ised a plenty of green shadow by and by. No 
 shadow was needed at present, for the sun was too 
 gentle ; its warmth was welcome and beneficent and 
 kindly. The old cherry tree in the corner was be- 
 ginning to open its wealth of white blossoms; ev-
 
 370 NOBODY. 
 
 erywhere else the bareness and brownness of win- 
 ter was still reigning, only excepting the patches 
 of green turf around the boles and under the spread- 
 ing boughs of the trees here and there. The gar- 
 den was no garden, only a spread of soft, up-turned, 
 brown loam. It looked a desolate place to Mrs 
 Barclay. 
 
 In the midst of it, the one point of life and 
 movement, was Lois. She was in a coarse, stout, 
 stuff dress, short and tucked up besides, to keep 
 it out of the dirt. Her hands were covered with 
 coarse thick gloves, her head with a little old straw 
 hat. At the moment Mrs. Barclay came up she 
 was raking a patch of ground which she had care- 
 fully marked out and bounded with a trampled foot 
 way; she was bringing it with her rake into a 
 condition of beautiful level smoothness, handling 
 her tool with light dexterity. As Mrs. Barclay 
 came near she looked up with a flash of surprise 
 and a smile. 
 
 " I have found you," said the lady. " So this is 
 what you are about ! " 
 
 " It is what I am always about at this time of 
 year." 
 
 " What are you doing ? " 
 
 " Just here 1 am going to put in radishes and 
 lettuce." 
 
 " Radishes and lettuce ! And that is instead of 
 French and philosophy ! " 
 
 "This is philosophy," said Lois, while with a 
 neat movement of her rake she threw off some
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 371 
 
 stones which she had collected from the surface 
 of the bed. " Very good philosophy. Surely the 
 philosophy of life is first to live." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was silent a moment upon this. 
 
 "Are radishes and lettuce the first thing you 
 plant in the spring, then ? " 
 
 " dear no ! " said Lois. " Do you see all that 
 corner? that's in potatoes. Do you see those slight- 
 ly marked lines here, running across from the 
 walk to the wall ? peas are there. They'll be up 
 soon. I think I shall put in some corn to-morrow. 
 Yonder is a bed of radishes and lettuce just out 
 of the ground. We'll have some radishes for tea, 
 before you know it." 
 
 " And do you mean to say that you have been 
 planting potatoes? you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lois, looking at her and laughing. 
 " I like to plant potatoes. In fact I like to plant 
 anything. What I do n,ot always like so well, is 
 the taking care of them after they are up and 
 growing." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay sat down and watched her. Lois 
 was now tracing delicate little drills across the 
 breadth of her nicely prepared bed ; little drills all 
 alike, just so deep and just so far apart. Then she 
 went to a basket hard by for a little paper of seeds; 
 two papers; and began deftly to scatter the seed 
 along the drills, with delicate and careful but quick 
 fingers. Mrs. Barclay watched her till she had 
 filled all the rows, and began to cover the seeds 
 in ; that too she did quick and skilfully.
 
 372 NOBODY. 
 
 " That is not fit work for you to do, Lois. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " You have something better to do." 
 
 " I do not see how I can. This is the work that 
 is given me." 
 
 "But any common person could do that?" 
 
 " We have not got the common person to do it," 
 said Lois laughing; "so it comes upon an uncom- 
 mon one." 
 
 " But there is a fitness in things." 
 
 " So you will think, when you get some of my 
 voung lettuce." The drills were fast covered in, 
 but there were a good many of them, and Loie 
 went on talking and working with equal spirit. 
 
 " I do not think I shall " Mrs. Barclay answered 
 the last statement. 
 
 " I like to do this, Mrs. Barclay. I like to do 
 it very much. I am pulled a little two ways this 
 spring but that only shews this is good for me." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " When anybody is living to his own pleasure, 
 I guess he is not in the best way of improvement." 
 
 "Is there no one but you to do all the weed- 
 ing, by and by, when the garden will be full of 
 plants?" 
 
 " Nobody else," said Lois. 
 
 " That must take a great deal of your time ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Lois, "it does; that and the fruit- 
 picking." 
 
 " Fruit -picking! Mercy! Why child, must you 
 do all that?"
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 373 
 
 " It is my part," said Lois pleasantly. " Charity 
 and Madge have each their part. This is mine, and 
 I like it better than theirs. But it is only so, Mrs. 
 Barclay, that we are able to get along. A gar- 
 dener would eat up our garden. I take only my 
 share. And there is a great deal, of pleasure in it. 
 It is pleasant to provide for the family's wants, and 
 to see the others enjoy what I bring in ; yes, and 
 to enjoy it myself. And then, do you see how 
 pleasant the work is ! Don't you like it out here 
 this morning?" 
 
 Mrs. Barclay cast a glance around her again. 
 There was a slight spring haze in the air, which 
 seemed to catch and hold the sun's rays and diffuse 
 them in gentle beneficence. Through it the open- 
 ing cherry blossoms gave their tender promise; the 
 brown, bare apple trees were softened; an inde- 
 scribable breath of hope and life was in the air, to 
 which the birds were doing all they could to give 
 expression; there was a delicate joy in Nature's 
 face, as if at being released from the bands of Win- 
 ter and having her hands free again. The smell of 
 the up-turned earth came fresh to Mrs. Barclay's 
 nostrils, along with a salt savour from the not dis- 
 tant sea. Yes, it was pleasant, with a rare and 
 wonderful pleasantness; and yet Mrs. Barclay's eyes 
 came discontentedly back to Lois. 
 
 " It would be possible to enjoy all this, Lois, if 
 you were not doing such evil work." 
 
 "Evil work! no, Mrs. Barclay. The work 
 that the Lord gives anybody to do cannot be evil
 
 374 NOBODY. 
 
 It must be the very best thing he can do. And I 
 do not believe I should enjoy the spring and the 
 summer and the autumn near so well, if I were 
 not doing it." 
 
 " Must one be a gardener, to have such enjoy- 
 ment?" 
 
 "/must," said Lois laughing. "If I do not fol- 
 low rny work, my work follows me; and then it 
 comes like a taskmaster and carries a whip." 
 
 " But Lois ! that sort of work will make your 
 hands rough." 
 
 Lois lifted one of her hands in its thick glove and 
 looked at it. " Well," she said, " what then ? What 
 are hands made for?" 
 
 "You know very well what I mean. You know 
 a time may come when you would like to have 
 your hands white and delicate." 
 
 " The time is come now," said Lois laughing. " I 
 have not to wait for it. I like white hands, and 
 delicate hands, as well as anybody. Mine must do 
 their work, all the same. Something might be said 
 for my feet too, I suppose," she added with another 
 laugh. 
 
 At the moment, she had finished outlining an- 
 other bed, and was now trampling a little hard bor- 
 der pathway round it, making the length of her 
 foot the breadth of the pathway, and setting foot 
 to foot close together, so bit by bit stamping it 
 round. Mrs. Barclay looked on, and wished some 
 body else could have looked on, at the bright, fresh 
 face under the little old hat, and the free action and
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 375 
 
 spirit and accuracy with which everytnmg that 
 either feet or hands did was done. Somehow she 
 forgot the coarse dress and only saw the delicate 
 creature in it. 
 
 " Lois, I do not like it ! " she began again. " Do 
 you know, some people are very particular about 
 these little things fastidious about them. You 
 may one day yet want to please one of those very 
 men." 
 
 "Not unless he wants to please me first!" said 
 Lois, with a glance from her path-treading. 
 
 " Of course. I am supposing that." 
 
 "I don't know him!" said Lois. "And I don't 
 see him in the distance ! " 
 
 "That proves nothing." 
 
 "And it wouldn't make any difference if 1 
 did." 
 
 "You are mistaken in thinking that. You do 
 not know yet what it is to be in love, Lois." 
 
 " I don't know," said Lois. " Can't one be m 
 love with one's grandmother ? " 
 
 " But Lois, this is going to take a great deal of 
 your time." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " And you want all your time, to give to more 
 important things. I can't bear to have you drop 
 them all to plant potatoes. Could not somebody 
 else be found to do it ? " 
 
 "We could not afford the somebody, Mrs. Bar- 
 clay." 
 
 It was not doubtfully or regretfully that the girl
 
 376 NOBODY. 
 
 spoke; the brisk content of her answers drove Mrs 
 Barclay almost to despair. 
 
 " Lois, you owe something to yourself." 
 
 "What, Mrs. Barclay?" 
 
 " You owe it to yourself to be prepared for what 
 I am sure is coming to you. You are not made to 
 live in Shampuashuh all your life. Somebody will 
 want you to quit it and go out into the wide world 
 with him." 
 
 Lois was silent a few minutes, with her colour a 
 little heightened, fresh as it had been already; 
 then, having tramped all round her new bed, she 
 came up to where Mrs. Barclay and her basket of 
 seeds were. 
 
 " I don't believe it at all," she said. " I think I 
 shall live and die here." 
 
 " Do you feel satisfied with that prospect ? " 
 
 Lois turned over the bags of seeds in her basket, 
 a little hurriedly ; then she stopped and looked up 
 at her questioner. 
 
 " I have nothing to do with all that," she said. 
 " I do not want to think of it. I have enough in 
 hand to think of. And I am satisfied, Mrs. Bar- 
 clay, with whatever God gives me." She turned 
 to her basket of seeds again, searching for a partic- 
 ular paper. 
 
 "I never heard any one say that before," re- 
 marked the other lady. 
 
 " As long as I can say it, don't you see that is 
 enough ? " said Lois lightly. " I enjoy all this work, 
 besides ; and so will you by and by when you get
 
 PEAS AND RADISHES. 577 
 
 the lettuce and radishes, and some of my Tom 
 Thumb peas. And I am not going to stop my 
 studies either." 
 
 She went back to the new bed now, where she 
 presently was very busy putting more seeds in. 
 Mrs. Barclay watched her a while. Then, seeing a 
 small smile break on the lips of the gardener, she 
 asked Lois what she was thinking of? Lois 
 looked up. 
 
 " I was thinking of that geode you shewed us 
 last night." 
 
 " That geode ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is so lovely. I have thought of it a 
 great many times. I am wanting very much to 
 learn about stones now. I thought always till now 
 that stones were only stones. The whole world is 
 changed to me since you have come, Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 Yes, thought that lady to herself, and what will 
 be the end of it? 
 
 "To tell the truth," Lois went on, "the garden 
 work comes harder to me this spring than ever it 
 did before; but that shews it is good for me. I 
 have been having too much pleasure all winter." 
 
 "Can one have too much pleasure?" said Mrs. 
 Barclay discontentedly. 
 
 " If it makes one unready for duty ? " said Lois
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 
 
 TOWARDS evening, one day late in.the summer, 
 the sun was shining as its manner is on that 
 marvellous combination of domes, arches, mosaics 
 and carvings which goes by the name of St. Mark's 
 at Venice. The soft Italian sky, glowing and rich, 
 gave a very benediction of colour; all around was 
 the still peace of the lagoon city; only in the great 
 square there was a gentle stir and flutter and rustle 
 and movement; for thousands of doves were flying 
 about and coming down to be fed, and a crowd of 
 varied human nature, but chiefly not belonging to 
 the place, were watching and distributing food to 
 the feathered multitude. People were engaged 
 with the doves, or with each other; few had a look 
 to spare for the great church; nobody even glanced 
 at the columns bearing St. Theodore and the Lion. 
 That is, speaking generally. For under one of 
 the arcades, leaning against one of the great pillars 
 of the same, a man stood whose look by turns went 
 to everything. He had been standing there move- 
 less for half an hour; and it passed to him like a 
 
 (378)
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 379 
 
 minute. Sometimes he studied that combination 
 aforesaid, where feeling and fancy and faith have 
 made such glorious work together; and to which, 
 as I hinted, the Venetian evening was lending such 
 indescribable magnificence. His eye dwelt on de- 
 tails of loveliness, of which it was constantly dis- 
 covering new revelations; or rested on the whole 
 colour-glorified pile with meditative remembrance 
 of what it had seen and done and whence it had 
 come. Then with sudden transition he would give 
 his attention to the motley crowd before him, and 
 the soft-winged doves fluttering up and down and 
 filling the air. And tiring of these, his look would 
 go off again to the bronze lion on his place of 
 honour in the Piazzetta, his thought probably wan- 
 dering back to the time when he was set there. 
 The man himself was noticed by nobody. He 
 stood in the shade of the pillar and did not stir. 
 He was a gentleman evidently; one sees that by 
 slight characteristics, which are nevertheless quite 
 unmistakeable and not to be counterfeited. His 
 dress of course .was the quiet, unobtrusive, and yet 
 perfectly correct thing, which dress ought to be. 
 His attitude was that of a man who knew both 
 how to move and how to be still, and did both 
 easily ; and further, the look of him betrayed the 
 habit of travel. This man had seen so much that 
 he was not moved by any young curiosity; knew 
 so much, that he could weigh and compare what 
 he knew. His figure was very good; his face 
 agreeable and intelligent with good observant grey
 
 380 NOBODY. 
 
 eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody 
 noted him. 
 
 And he had noted nobody; the crowd before 
 him was to him simply a crowd, which excited no 
 interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, he 
 caught sight of a head and shoulders in the mov- 
 ing throng, which started him out of his careless- 
 ness. They were but a few yards from him, seen 
 and lost again in the swaying mass of human 
 beings ; but though half seen he was sure he could 
 not mistake. He spoke out a little loud the word 
 "Tom!" 
 
 He was not heard, and the person spoken to 
 moved out of sight again. The speaker however 
 now left his place and plunged among the people. 
 Presently he had another glimpse of the head and 
 shoulders, and was yet more sure of his man ; lost 
 sight of him anew, but following in the direction 
 taken by the chase gradually won his way nearer, 
 and at length overtook the man, who was then 
 standing between the pillars of the Lion and St. 
 Theodore and looking out towards the water. 
 
 " Tom ! " said his pursuer clapping him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Philip Dillwyn ! " said the other turning. 
 "Philip! Where did you come from. What a 
 lucky turn up ! That I should find you here." 
 
 "I found you, man. Where have you come 
 from?" 
 
 "0 from everywhere." 
 
 "Are you alone? Where are your people?"
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 381 
 
 "0 Julia and Lenox are gone home. Mamma 
 and I are here yet. I left mamma in a pension in 
 Switzerland, where I could not hold it out any 
 longer; and I have been wandering about Flor- 
 ence, and Pisa, and I don't know all till now I 
 have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly to 
 get you ! " 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 "Nothing. I have done everything, you 
 know. There is nothing left to a fellow." 
 
 "That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " It is hopeless. Really, I don't see, sometimes, 
 what a fellow's life is good for. I believe the 
 people who have to work for it, have after all the 
 best time ! " 
 
 "They work to live," said the other. 
 
 " I suppose they do." 
 
 "Therefore you are going round in a circle. It 
 life is worth nothing, why should one work to keep 
 it up?" 
 
 "Well, what is it worth, Dillwyn? Upon my 
 word, I have never made it out satisfactorily." 
 
 " Look here we cannot talk in this place. Have 
 you ever been to Torcello ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Suppose we take a gondola and go?" 
 
 44 Now ? What is there ? " 
 
 "An old church."
 
 382 NOBODY. 
 
 "There are old churches all over. The thing is 
 to find a new one." 
 
 "You prefer the new ones?" 
 
 " Just for the rarity," said Tom smiling. 
 
 " I do not believe you have studied the old ones 
 yet. Do you know the mosaics in St. Mark's?" 
 
 " I never study mosaics." 
 
 " And I'll wager you have not seen the Tintorets 
 in the Palace of the Doges?" 
 
 "There are Tintorets all over! " said Tom, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders wearily. 
 
 "Then have you seen Murano?" 
 
 "The glass works, yes." 
 
 " I do not mean the glass works. Come along 
 anywhere in a gondola will do, such an evening 
 as this; and we can talk comfortably. You need 
 not look at anything." 
 
 They entered a gondola, and were presently glid- 
 ing smoothly over the coloured waters of the lagoon ; 
 shining with richer sky reflections than any mortal 
 painter could put on canvas. Not long in silence. 
 
 " Where have you been, Tom, all this while ? " 
 
 " I told you, everywhere ! " said Tom with another 
 shrug of his shoulders. " The one thing one comes 
 abroad for, you know, is to run away from the win- 
 ter; so we have been doing that, as long as there 
 was any winter to run from, and since then we 
 have been running away from the summer. Let 
 me see we came over in November, didn't we? or 
 December; we went to Rome as fast as we could. 
 There was very good society in Rome last winter
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 383 
 
 Then as spring came on we coasted down to Naples 
 and Palermo. We staid at Palermo a while. From 
 there we went back to England ; and from England 
 we came to Switzerland. And there we have been 
 till I couldn't stand Switzerland any longer; and I 
 bolted." 
 
 " Palermo isn't a bad place to spend awhile in." 
 
 " No ; but Sicily is stupid generally. It's all ri- 
 diculous, Philip. Except for the name of l!he thing, 
 one can get just as good nearer home. I could get 
 better sport at Appledore last summer, than in any 
 place I've been at in Europe." 
 
 " Ah ! Appledore," said Philip slowly, and dip- 
 ping his hand in the water. " I surmise the society 
 also was good there." 
 
 " Would have been," Tom returned discontentedly, 
 "if there had not been a little too much of it." 
 
 " Too much of it ! " 
 
 " Yes. I couldn't stir without two or three at 
 my heels. It's very kind, you know ; but it rather 
 hampers a fellow." 
 
 'Miss Lothrop was there, wasn't she?" 
 
 " Of course she was! That made all the trouble." 
 
 " And all the sport too, hey, Tom ? Things usu- 
 ally are two-sided in this world." 
 
 " She made no trouble. It was my mother and 
 sister. They were so awfully afraid of her. And 
 they drilled George in; so among them they were 
 too many for me. But I think Appledore is the 
 nicest place I know." 
 
 "You might buy one of the islands a little
 
 384 NOBODY. 
 
 money would do it build a lodge, and have your 
 Europe always at hand; when the winter is gone, 
 as you say. Even the winter you might manage to 
 live through, if you could secure the right sort of 
 society. Hey, Tom? Isn't that an idea? I won- 
 der it never occurred to you. I think one might 
 bid defiance to the world, if one were settled at 
 the Isles of Shoals." 
 
 " Yes, said Tom, with something very like a groan 
 " If one hadn't a mother and sister." 
 
 " You are heathenish ! " 
 
 "I'm not, at all!" returned Tom passionately. 
 " See here, Philip. There is one thing goes before 
 mother and sister; and that you know. It's a man's 
 wife. And I've seen my wife, and I can't get her." 
 
 "Why? "said Dillwyu drily. He was hanging 
 over the side of the gondola and looking attentively 
 at the play of colour in the water; which reflecting 
 the sky in still splendour where it lay quiet, broke 
 up in ripples under the gondolier's oar and seemed 
 to scatter diamonds and amethysts and topazes in 
 fairy-like prodigality all around. 
 
 " I've told you ! " said Tom fretfully. 
 
 "Yes, but I do not comprehend. Does not the 
 lady in question like Appledore as well as you do ?" 
 
 " She likes Appledore well enough. I do not 
 know how well she likes me. I never had a chance 
 to find out. I don't think she dislikes me, though," 
 said Tom meditatively. 
 
 " It is not too late to find out yet," Philip said 
 with even more dryness in his tone.
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 385 
 
 " isn't it, though ! " said Tom. " I'm tied up 
 from ever asking her now. I'm engaged to another 
 woman." 
 
 "Tom!" said the other, suddenly straightening 
 himself up. 
 
 "Don't shout at a fellow! What could 1 do? 
 They wouldn't let me have what I wanted; and 
 now they're quite pleased, and Julia has gone home 
 She has done her work. I am making an ex- 
 cellent match. ' An old family, and three hundred 
 thousand dollars,' as my mother says. That's all 
 one wants, you know." 
 
 "Who is the lady?" 
 
 " It don't matter, you know, when you have heard 
 her qualifications. It's Miss Dulcimer one of the 
 Philadelphia Dulcimers. Of course one couldn't 
 make a better bargain for oneself. And I'm as fond 
 of her as I can be; in fact, I was afraid I was get- 
 ting too fond. So I ran away, as I told you, to think 
 over my happiness at leisure and moderate my 
 feelings." 
 
 "Tom, Tom, I never heard you bitter be- 
 fore," said his friend, regarding him with real 
 concern. 
 
 " Because I never was bitter before. I shall 
 be all right now. I haven't had a soul on whom 
 I could pour out my mind, till this hour. I know 
 you're as safe as a mine. It does me good to talk 
 to you. I tell you, I shall be all right. I'm a 
 very happy bridegroom expectant. You know, if 
 the Caruthers have plenty of money, the Dulci-
 
 386 . NOBODY. 
 
 mers have twice as much. Money's really every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Have you any idea how this news will touch 
 Miss The other lady you were talking about ? " 
 
 "1 suppose it won't touch her at all. She's 
 different; that's one reason why I liked her. She 
 would not care a farthing for me because I'm a 
 Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass 
 farthing ! She is the reoZest person I ever saw. 
 She would go about Appledore from morning to 
 night in the greatest state of delight you ever 
 saw anybody; where my sister, for instance, would 
 see nothing but rocks and weeds. Lois would 
 have her hands full of what Julia would call trash, 
 and what to her was better than if the fairies had 
 done it. Things pulled out of the shingle and 
 mud, I can just see her, and flowers, and stones, 
 and shells. What she would make of this now ! 
 But you couldn't set that girl down anywhere, 
 I believe, that she wouldn't find something to 
 make her feel rich. She's a richer woman this 
 minute, than my Dulcimer with her thousands. 
 And she's got good blood in her, too, Philip. I 
 learned that from Mrs. Wishart. She has the 
 blood of ever so many of the old Pilgrims in her 
 veins; and that is good descent, Philip?" 
 
 'They think so, in New England." 
 
 " Well, they are right, I am ready to believe. 
 Anyhow, I don't care " 
 
 He broke off, and there was a silence of some 
 minutes' length. The gondola swam along over
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE 387 
 
 the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; the 
 reflected colours glanced upon two faces, grave 
 and self absorbed. 
 
 " Old boy," said Philip at length, " I hardly think 
 you are right." 
 
 " Right in what ? I am right in all I have told 
 you." 
 
 " I meant, right in your proposed plan of action. 
 You may say it is none of my business." 
 
 " I shall not say it, though. What's the wrong 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " It seems to me Miss Dulcimer would not feel 
 obliged to you, if she knew all." 
 
 "She doesn't feel obliged to me at all," said 
 Tom. " She gives as good as she gets." 
 
 " No better ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Pardon me, Tom; but you have been frank 
 with me. By your own account, she will get 
 very little." 
 
 " All she wants. I'll give her a local habitation, 
 and a name." 
 
 " I am sure you are unjust." 
 
 "Not at all. That is all half the girls want; 
 all they try for. She's very content. I'm very 
 good to her when we are together; and I mean to 
 be. You needn't look at me," said Tom trying to 
 laugh. " Three quarters of all the marriages that 
 are made are on the same pattern. Why Phil, 
 what do the men and women of this world live 
 for? What's the purpose in all I've been doing
 
 388 NOBODY. 
 
 since I left college ? What's the good of floating 
 round in the world as I have been doing all sum- 
 mer and winter, here this year? and at home it is 
 different only in the manner of it. People live 
 for nothing, and don't enjoy life. I don't know 
 at this minute a single man or woman, of our 
 sort, you know, that enjoys life; except that one. 
 And she isn't our sort. She has no money, and 
 no society, and no Europe to wander round in ! 
 they would say they enjoy life; but their way 
 shews they don't." 
 
 " Enjoyment is not the first thing," Philip said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "0 isn't it! It's what we're all after, anyhow; 
 you'll allow that." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the way we miss it." 
 
 " So Dulcimer and I are all right, you see," 
 pursued Tom without heeding this remark. "We 
 shall be a very happy couple. All the world will 
 have us at their houses, and we shall have all the 
 world at ours. There won't be room left for any- 
 thing but happiness; and that'll squeeze in any- 
 where, you know. It's like chips floating round 
 on the surface of a whirlpool they fly round and 
 round splendidly, till they get sucked in." 
 
 "Tom! " cried his companion. " What has come 
 to you? Your life is not so different now from 
 what it has always been; and I have always 
 known you for a light-hearted fellow. I can't have 
 you take this tone." 
 
 Tom was silent, biting the ends of his moustache
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 389 
 
 in a nervous way, which bespoke a good deal of 
 mental excitement; Philip feared, of mental trouble. 
 
 " If a friend may ask, how came you to do what 
 is so unsatisfactory to you?" he said at length. 
 
 "My blessed mother and sister! They were so 
 preciously afraid I should ruin myself. Philip, I 
 could not make head against them. They were too 
 much for me, and too many for me ; they were all 
 roimd me; they were ahead of me; I had no 
 chance at all. So I gave up in despair. Women 
 are the devil, when they take a thing in their 
 head! A man's nowhere. I gave in, and gave 
 up, and came away, and now they're satisfied." 
 
 "Then the affair is definitely concluded?" 
 
 " As definitely as if my head was off." 
 
 Philip did not laugh, and there was a pause 
 again. The colours were fading from sky and 
 water, and a yellow, soft moonlight began to assert 
 her turn. It was a change of beauty for beauty; 
 but neither of the two young men seemed to take 
 notice of it. 
 
 " Tom," began the other after a time, " what you 
 say about the way most of us live, is more or less 
 true; and it ought not to be true." 
 
 " Of course it is true ! " said Tom. 
 
 " But it ought not to be true." 
 
 " What are you going to do about it ? One must 
 do as everybody else does; I suppose." 
 
 " Must one ? That is the very question." 
 
 " What can you do else ? as long as you haven't 
 your bread to get."
 
 390 NOBODY. 
 
 "I believe the people who have their bread to 
 get have the best of it. But there must be some 
 use in the world, I suppose, for those who are 
 under no such necessity. Did you ever hear that 
 Miss Lothrop's family were strictly religious? " 
 
 "No, yes, I have," said Tom. "I know she 
 is." 
 
 " That would not have suited you." 
 
 " Yes, it would. Anything she did would have 
 suited me. I have a great respect for religion, 
 Philip." 
 
 "What do you mean by religion?" 
 
 "I don't know what everybody means by it. 
 It is the care of the spiritual part of our nature, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "And how does that care work?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Tom. " It works altar 
 cloths; and it seems to mean church-going, and 
 choral music, and teaching ragged schools; and 
 that sort of thing. I don't understand it; but I 
 should never interfere with it. It seems to suit 
 the women particularly." 
 
 Again there fell a pause. 
 
 " Where have you been, Dillwyn ? and what 
 brought you here again ? " Tom began now. 
 
 " I came to pass the time," the other said 
 musingly. 
 
 " Ah ! And where have you passed it ? " 
 
 " Along the shores of the Adriatic, part of the 
 time. At Abazzia, and Sebenico, and the islands.' 
 
 " What's in all that ? I never heard of Abazzia."
 
 THE LAGOON OF VENICE. 391 
 
 "The world is a large place/* said Philip ab- 
 sently. 
 
 " But what is Abazzia ? " 
 
 " A little paradise of a place, so sheltered that it 
 is like a nest of all lovely things. Really; it has 
 its own climate, through certain favouring circum- 
 stances; and it is a hidden little nook of delight." 
 
 "Ah ! What took you to the shores of the Adri- 
 atic anyhow ? " 
 
 " Full of interest," said Philip. 
 
 " Pray, of what kind ? " 
 
 "Every kind. Historical, industrial, mechanical, 
 natural, and artistic. But I grant you, Tom, that 
 was not why I went there. I went there to get 
 out of the ruts of travel and break new ground. 
 Like you, being a little tired of going round in a 
 circle forever. And it occurs to me, that man 
 must have been made for somewhat else than such 
 a purposeless circle. No other creature is a burden 
 to himself." 
 
 " Because no other creature thinks," said Tom. 
 
 " The power of thought, can surely be no final 
 disadvantage." 
 
 " I don't see what it amounts to," Tom returned. 
 " A man is happy enough, I suppose, as long as 
 he is busy thinking out some new thing invent- 
 ing, creating, discovering, or working out his 
 discoveries; but as soon as he has brought his in- 
 vention to perfection and set it going, he is tired 
 of it, and drives after something else." 
 
 "You are coming to Solomon's judgment," said
 
 392 NOBODY. 
 
 the other, leaning back upon the cushions and 
 clasping his hands above his head, " what the 
 preacher says ; ' Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.' ' 
 
 " Well, so are you," said Tom. 
 
 " It makes me ashamed." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Myself." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " That I should have lived to be thirty-two years 
 old, and never have done anything, or found any 
 way to be of any good in the world ! There isn't 
 a butterfly of less use than I ! " 
 
 " You weren't made to be of use," said Tom. 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear fellow, you have said 
 the most disparaging thing, I hope, that ever was 
 Said of me ! You cannot better that statement, if 
 you think an hour ! You mean it of me as a hu- 
 man being, I trust? not as an individual? In the 
 one case it Avould be indeed melancholy, but in 
 the other it would be humiliating. You take the 
 race, not the personal view. The practical view 
 is, that what is of no use had better not be in 
 existence. Look here here we are at Murano; I 
 had not noticed it. Shall we land, and see things 
 by moonlight ? or go back to Venice ? " 
 
 " Back, and have dinner," said Tom. 
 
 " By way of prolonging this existence, which to 
 you is burdensome and to me is unsatisfactory 
 Where is the logic of that ? " 
 
 But they went back, and had a very good dinnei 
 too.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 AN OX CART. 
 
 IT happened not far from this same time in the 
 end of August, when Mr. Dillwyn and Tom 
 Caruthers came together on the Piazzetta of St. 
 Mark, that another meeting took place in the far 
 away regions of Shampuashuh. A train going to 
 Boston was stopped by a broken bridge ahead, and 
 its passengers discharged in one of the small towns 
 along the coast, to wait until the means of getting 
 over the little river could be arranged. People on 
 a railway journey commonly do not like to wait; 
 it was different no doubt in the days of stage 
 coaches, when patience had some exercise fre- 
 quently; now, we are spoiled, and you may notice, 
 that ten minutes delay is often more than can be 
 endured with complacency. Our fathers and moth- 
 ers had hours to wait and took it as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 Among the impatient passengers thrown out at 
 Independence were two specially impatient. 
 
 "What on earth shall we do with ourselves?" 
 said the lady. 
 
 '393)
 
 394 NOBODY. 
 
 " Pity the breakdown had not occurred a little 
 further on," said the gentleman. "You might have 
 visited your friend or Tom's friend Miss Lothrop. 
 We are just a few miles from Shampuashuh." 
 
 " Shampuashuh ! Miss Lothrop ! Was that 
 where she lived? How far, George?" 
 
 "A few miles half a dozen, perhaps." 
 
 "0 George, let us get horses and drive there! ' 
 
 "But then you may not catch the train thia 
 evening again." 
 
 " I don't care. I cannot wait here. It would be 
 a great deal better to have the drive and see the 
 other place. Yes, we will go and visit her. Get 
 horses, George, please ! Quick. This is terrible." 
 
 " Will you ask for their hospitality ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. They would be delighted. 
 That is just what the better sort of country people 
 like, to have somebody come and see them. Make 
 haste, George." 
 
 With a queer little smile on his face, Mr. Lenox 
 however did as he was desired. A wagon was 
 procured without very much delay, in which they 
 could be driven to Shampuashuh. 
 
 It was a very warm day, and the travellers had 
 just the height of it. Hot sunbeams poured down 
 upon them; the level, shadeless country through 
 which lay their way, shewed as little as it could 
 of the attractive features which really belonged 
 to it. The lady declared herself exceeded by the 
 heat and dust; the gentleman opined they might 
 as well have staid in Independence where they
 
 AN Ox CART. 395 
 
 were. Between two arid three o'clock they en- 
 tered the long green street of Shampuashuh. The 
 sunbeams seemed tempered there, but it was only 
 a mental effect produced by the quiet beauty and 
 airy space of the village avenue, and the shade 
 of great elms which fell so frequently upon the 
 wayside grass. 
 
 " What a sweet place ! " cried the lady. 
 
 "Comfortable looking houses " suggested the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " It seems cooler here," the lady went on. 
 
 " It is getting to a cooler time of day." 
 
 " Why no, George ! Three o'clock is just the 
 crown of the heat. Don't it look as if nobody 
 ever did anything here? there's no stir at all." 
 
 " My eyes see different tokens ; they are more 
 versed in business than yours are naturally." 
 
 " What do your eyes see ? " a little impatiently. 
 
 " You may notice that nothing is out of order. 
 There is no bit of fence out of repair; and never 
 a gate hanging upon its hinges. There is no care- 
 lessness. Do you observe the neatness of this 
 broad street ? " 
 
 " What should make it unneat ? with so few 
 travellers ? " 
 
 " Ground is the last thing to keep itself in order. 
 I notice, too, the neat stacks of wood in the wood- 
 sheds. And in the fields we have passed, the 
 work is all done, up to the minute; nothing hang- 
 ing by the eyelids. The houses are full of win 
 dows, and all of them shining bright."
 
 396 NOBODY. 
 
 "You might be a newspaper reporter, George 
 Is this the house, we are coming to ? It is quitt 
 a large house; quite respectable." 
 
 "Did you think that little girl had come out 
 of any but a respectable house ? " 
 
 " Pshaw, George ! you know what I mean. They 
 are very poor and very plain people. I suppose 
 we might go straight in ? " 
 
 They dismissed their vehicle, so burning their 
 ships, and knocked at the front door. A moment 
 after it was opened by Charity. Her tall figure 
 was arrayed in a homely print gown, of no par- 
 ticular fashion ; a little shawl was over her shoul- 
 ders, notwithstanding the heat, and on her head 
 a sunbonnet. 
 
 " Does Miss Lothrop live here ? " 
 
 " Three of us," said Charity, confronting the pair 
 with a doubtful face. 
 
 " Is Miss Lois at home ? " 
 
 " She's as near as possible not" said the door 
 keeper; "but I guess she is. You may come in, 
 and I'll see." 
 
 She opened a door in the hall which led to a 
 room on the north side of it, corresponding to 
 Mrs. Barclay's on the south; and there she left 
 them. It was large and pleasant and cool, if 
 it was also very plain; and Mrs. Lenox sank 
 into a rocking chair, repeating to herself that 
 it was 'very respectable.' On a table at one 
 side lay a few books, which drew Mr. Lenox's 
 curiosity.
 
 AN Ox CART. 397 
 
 " Buskin's ' Modern Painters ' ! " he exclaimed, 
 looking at his wife. 
 
 "Selections, I suppose." 
 
 "No, this is Vol. 5. And the next is Thiers' 
 ' Consulate and Empire' ! " 
 
 " Translation." 
 
 "No. Original. And the 'Old Red Sandstone.'" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Hugh Miller." 
 
 "Who's Hugh Miller?" 
 
 " He is, or was, a gentleman whom you would 
 not admit to your society. He began life as a 
 Scotch mason." 
 
 Meanwhile, Charity going back to the living 
 room of the family, found there Lois busied in 
 arraying old Mrs. Armadale for some sort of ex- 
 cursion ; putting a light shawl about her and draw- 
 ing a white sunbonnet over her cap. Lois herself 
 was in an old nankeen dress with a cape, and had 
 her hat on." 
 
 "There's some folks that want you, Lois," her 
 sister announced. 
 
 "Want me!" said Lois. "Who is it? why didn't 
 you tell them we were just going out? " 
 
 " I don't usually say things, without I know that 
 it's so," responded Charity. " Maybe we're going 
 to be hindered." 
 
 "AVe must not be hindered," returned Lois. 
 "Grandmother is ready, and Mrs.' Barclay is 
 ready, and the cart is here. We must go, who- 
 ever comes. You get mother into the cart, and
 
 398 NOBODY. 
 
 the baskets and everything, and I'll be as quick 
 as I can." 
 
 So Lois went into the parlour. A great surprise 
 caine over her when she saw who was there, and 
 with the surprise a slight feeling of amusement; 
 along with some other feeling, she could not have 
 told what, which put her gently upon her mettle. 
 She received her visiters frankly and pleasantly, 
 and also with a calm ease which at the moment 
 was superior to their own. So she heard their 
 explanation of what had befallen them, and of 
 their resolution to visit her; and a slight account 
 of their drive from Independence; all which Mrs. 
 Lenox gave with more prolixity than she had in- 
 tended or previously thought necessary. 
 
 " And now," said Lois, " I will invite you to 
 another drive. We are just going down to the 
 Sound, to smell the salt air and get cooled off. 
 We shall have supper down there before we come 
 home. I do not think I could give you anything 
 pleasanter, if I had the choice; but it happens that 
 all is arranged for this. Do come with us; it will 
 be a variety for you, at least." 
 
 The lady and gentleman looked at each other. 
 
 " It's so hot ! " objected the former. 
 
 " It will be cooler every minute now," said 
 Lois. 
 
 " We ought to take the train when it comes 
 along " 
 
 " You cannot tell when that will be," said Mr. 
 Lenox. "You would find it very tedious waiting
 
 AN Ox CART. 399 
 
 at the station. We might take the night train. 
 That will pass about ten o'clock, or should." 
 
 "But we should be in your way, I am afraid," 
 Mrs. Lenox went on, turning to Lois. "You are 
 not prepared for two more in your party." 
 
 "Always ! " said Lois smiling. " We should never 
 think ourselves prepared at all, in Shampuashuh, 
 if we were not ready for two more than the party. 
 And the cart will hold us all." 
 
 " The cart ! " cried the other. 
 
 "Yes. yes! I did not tell you that," said 
 Lois, smiling more broadly. "We are going in 
 an ox cart. That will be a novel experience for 
 you too." 
 
 If Mrs. Lenox had not half accepted the invita- 
 tion already, I am not sure but this intimation 
 would have been too much for her courage. How- 
 ever, she was an outwardly well-bred woman ; that 
 is, like so many others, well-bi*ed when there was 
 nothing to gain by being otherwise; and so she 
 excused her hesitation and doubt by the plea of 
 being "so dusty." There was help for that; Lois 
 took her up stairs to a neat chamber and furnished 
 her with water and towels. 
 
 It was new experience to the city lady. She 
 took note, half disdainfully, of the plainness of the 
 room ; the painted floor, yellow and shining, which 
 boasted only one or two little strips of carpet; 
 the common earthenware toilet set; the rush-bot- 
 tomed chairs. On the other hand, there was an 
 old mahogany dressing bureau; a neat bed; and
 
 400 NOBODY. 
 
 water and towels (coarse, the latter) were exceed- 
 ingly fresh and sweet. She made up her mind 
 to go through with the adventure, and rejoined 
 her husband with a composed mind. 
 
 Lois took them first to the sitting room, where 
 they were introduced to Mrs. Barclay, and then 
 they all went out at the back door of the house 
 and across a little grassy space, to a gate leading 
 into a lane. Here stood the cart, in which the rest 
 of the family was already bestowed; Mrs. Arm- 
 adale being in an arm chair with short legs, while 
 Madge and Charity sat in the straw with which 
 the whole bottom of the cart was spread. A tall, 
 oldish man, with an ox whip, stood leaning against 
 the fence and surveying things. 
 
 "Are we to go in there?" said Mrs. Lenox, with 
 perceptible doubt. 
 
 "It's the only carriage we have to offer you," said 
 Lois merrily. " For your sake, I wish we had a bet- 
 ter; for my own, I like nothing so well as an ox 
 cart. Mrs. Barclay, will you get in? and stimulate 
 this lady's courage ? " 
 
 A kitchen chair had been brought out to facili- 
 tate the operation ; and Mrs. Barclay stepped lightly 
 in, curled herself down in the soft bed of straw, 
 and declared that it was very comfortable. With 
 an expression of face which made Lois and Madge 
 laugh for weeks after when they recalled it, Mrs. 
 Lenox stepped gingerly in, following, and took her 
 place. 
 
 " Grandmother," said Lois, " this is Mrs. Lenox,
 
 AN Ox CART. 401 
 
 whom you have heard me speak about. And these 
 are my sisters, Madge and Charity, Mrs. Lenox. 
 And grandmother, this is Mr. Lenox. Now, you 
 see the cart has room enough," she added, as her- 
 self and the gentleman also took their seats. 
 
 " Is that the hull of ye ? " inquired now the man 
 with the ox whip, coming forward. " And be all 
 your stores got in for the v'yage ? I don't want to 
 be comin' back from somewheres about half way." 
 
 "All right, Mr. Sears," said Lois. "You may 
 drive on. Mother, are you comfortable ? " 
 
 And then there was a " whoa "-ing and a " gee "- 
 ing and a mysterious flourishing of the long leathern 
 whip, with which the driver seemed to be playing; 
 for if its tip touched the shoulders of the oxen it 
 did no more, though it waved over them vigorously. 
 But the oxen understood, and pulled the cart for- 
 ward; lifting and setting down their heavy feet 
 with great deliberation, seemingly, but with equal 
 certainty, and swaying their great heads gently 
 from side to side as they went. Lois was so much 
 amused at her guests' situation that she had some 
 difficulty to keep her features in their due calmness 
 and sobriety. Mrs. Lenox eyed the oxen, then the 
 contents of the cart, then the fields. 
 
 "Slow travelling!" said Lois with a smile. 
 
 " Can they go no faster ? " 
 
 " They could go a little faster, if they were urged ; 
 but that would spoil the comfort of the whole 
 thing. The entire genius of a ride in an ox cart is, 
 that everybody should take his ease."
 
 402 NOBODY. 
 
 "Oxen included?" said Mr. Lenox. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why not, indeed ! " said the gentleman smil- 
 ing. " Only, ordinary people cannot get rid easily 
 of the notion that the object of going is to get 
 somewhere." 
 
 "That's not the object in this case," Lois an- 
 swered merrily. " The one sole object is fun." 
 
 Mrs. Lenox said nothing more, but her face spoke 
 as plainly as possible, And you call this fun ! 
 
 " I am enjoying myself veiy much," said Mrs. 
 Barclay. "I think it is delightful." 
 
 Something in her manner of speech made Mr. 
 Lenox look at her. She was sitting next him on 
 the cart bottom. 
 
 *'Perhaps this is a new experience also to you ? " 
 he said. 
 
 "Delightfully new. Never rode in an ox cart 
 before in my life; hardly ever saw one, in fact. We 
 are quite out of the race and struggle and uneasi- 
 ness of the world, don't you see? There comes 
 down a feeling of repose upon one, softly, as Long- 
 fellow says 
 
 " ' As a feather is wafted downward 
 From an eagle in his flight. ' 
 
 " Only I should say in this case it was from the 
 wing of an angel." 
 
 "Mrs. Barclay, you are too poetical for an ox 
 cart," said Lois laughing. " If we began to be 
 poetical, I am afraid the repose would be troubled."
 
 AN Ox CART. 403 
 
 " Twont du Poetry no harm to go in an ox cart," 
 remarked here the ox driver. 
 
 "I agree with you, sir," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 " Poetry would not be Poetry, if she could not ride 
 anywhere. But why should she trouble repose. 
 Lois ? " 
 
 "Yes," added Mr. Lenox; "I was about to ask 
 that question. I thought poetry was always 
 soothing ? Or that the ladies at least think so ? " 
 
 " I like it well enough," said Lois, " but I think 
 it is apt to be melancholy. Except in hymns." 
 
 "Except hymns!" said Mrs. Lenox. "I thought 
 hymns were always sad. They deal so much with 
 death and the grave." 
 
 " And the resurrection ! " said Lois. 
 
 "They always make me gloomy," the lady went 
 on. " The resurrection ! do you call that a lively 
 subject ? " 
 
 "Depends on how you look at it, I suppose," 
 said her husband. " But Miss Lothrop, I cannot 
 recover from my surprise at your assertion respect- 
 ing non-religious poetry." 
 
 Lois left that statement alone. She did not care 
 whether he recovered or not. Mr. Lenox, however, 
 was curious. 
 
 " I wish you would shew me on what your opin- 
 ion is founded," he went on pleasantly. 
 
 "Yes, Lois, justify yourself," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " I could not do that without making quotations, 
 Mrs. Barclay, and I am afraid I cannot remember 
 enough. Besides, it would hardly be interesting."
 
 404 NOBODY. 
 
 " To me, it would," said Mrs. Barclay. " Where 
 could one have a better time? The oxen go so 
 comfortably, and leisure is so graciously abundant." 
 
 " Pray go on, Miss Lothrop ! " Mr. Lenox urged. 
 
 " And then I hope you'll go on and prove hymns 
 lively," added his wife. 
 
 The conversation which followed was long 
 enough to have a chapter to itself; and so may 
 be comfortably skipped by any who are so inclined.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 ' T)ERHAPS you will none of you agree with me," 
 1 Lois said; "and I do not know much poe- 
 try; but there seems to me to run an undertone of 
 lament and weariness through most of what I know. 
 Now take the 'Death of the Flowers' that you 
 were reading yesterday, Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " 'The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late 
 
 he bore, 
 
 And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no 
 more.' 
 
 " That is the tone I mean ; a sigh and a regret." 
 "But the 'Death of the Flowers' is exquisite" 
 
 pleaded Mrs. Lenox. 
 
 " Certainly it is," said Lois; "but is it gay? 
 
 " ' The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
 And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow, 
 But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, 
 And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty 
 
 stood, 
 Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague 
 
 on men, 
 And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, 
 
 and glen.'" 
 
 (405)
 
 406 NOBODY. 
 
 "How you remember it, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay 
 " But is not that all true ? " asked Mr. Lenox. 
 " True in fact," said Lois. " The flowers do die. 
 But the frost does not fall like a plague; and no- 
 body that was right happy would eay so, or think so. 
 Fake Pringle's ' Afar in the Desert, Mrs. Barclay 
 
 " 'Wlien the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, 
 And sick of the present I turn to the past; 
 When the eye is suffused with regretful tears 
 From the fond recollections of former years, 
 And shadows of things that are long since fled 
 Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead; 
 Bright visions ' 
 
 " I forget how it goes on." 
 
 " But that is as old as the hills 1 " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lenox. 
 
 " It shews what I mean." 
 
 " I am afraid you will not better your case by 
 coming down into modern time, Mrs. Lenox," re- 
 marked Mrs. Barclay. " Take Tennyson 
 
 " 'With weary steps I loiter on, 
 
 Though always under altered skies 
 The purple from the distance dies, 
 My prospect and horizon gone.' " 
 
 "Take Byron," said Lois. 
 
 " ' My days are in the yellow leaf, 
 
 The flower and fruit of life are gone; 
 The worm, the canker, aiM the grief, 
 Are mine alone.' " 
 
 "0 Byron was morbid," said Mrs. Lenox. 
 "Take Moore," Mrs. Barclay went on, humouring 
 the discussion on purpose. ' Do you remember?
 
 ^OETKV. 407 
 
 " 'My birthday ! what a different sound 
 
 That word had in my younger years ! 
 And now, each time the day comes round, 
 Less and less white its mark appears.' " 
 
 "Well, I am sure that is true," said the other 
 lady. 
 
 "Do you remember Robert Herrick's lines to 
 daffodils ? 
 
 " 'Fair daffodils, we weep to see 
 You haste away so soon." 
 
 "And then, 
 
 " 'We have short time to stay as you, 
 
 We have as short a spring; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you or anything: 
 
 We die 
 As your showers do ; and dry 
 
 Away 
 
 Like to the summer's rain, 
 Or as the pearls of morning dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again.' 
 
 " And Waller to the rose 
 
 " ' Then die ! that she 
 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 May read in thee. 
 
 How small a part of time they share, 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 
 
 "And Burns to the daisy," said Lois. 
 
 " "There in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snowy bosom sunward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise; 
 But now the share uptears thy bed. 
 
 And low thou lies !
 
 408 NOBODY. 
 
 " 'Ev'n thou who mournst the Daisy's fate, 
 That fate is thine no distant date; 
 Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom ! '" 
 
 " you are getting very gloomy ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Lenox. 
 
 "Not we," said Lois merrily laughing, " but your 
 poets." 
 
 " Mend your cause, Julia," said her husband. 
 
 " I haven't got the poets in my head," said the 
 lady. " They are not all like that. I am very fond 
 of Elizabeth Barrett Browning." 
 
 " The ' cry of the children ' ? " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " no indeed ! She's not all like that." 
 
 " She is not all like that. There is Hector in the 
 Garden." 
 
 " that is pretty ! " said Lois. " But do you re- 
 member how it runs ? 
 
 ' ' ' Nine years old ! The first of any 
 Seem the happiest years that come ' " 
 
 "Go on, Lois " said her friend. And the re- 
 quest being seconded, Lois gave the whole, ending 
 with 
 
 " 'Oh the birds, the tree, the ruddy 
 
 And white blossoms, sleek with rain ! 
 Oh my garden, rich with pansies ! 
 Oh my childhood's bright romances 1 
 All revive, like Hector's body, 
 And I see them stir again !
 
 POETRY. 40J) 
 
 "And despite life's changes --chances, 
 And despite the deathbell's toll, 
 They press on me in full seeming ! 
 Help, some angel ! stay this dreaming 1 
 As the birds sang in the branches, 
 Sing God's patience through my soul ! 
 
 " ' That no dreamer, no neglecter 
 Of the present work unsped, 
 I may wake up and be doing, 
 Life's heroic ends pursuing, 
 Though my past is dead as Hector, 
 And though Hector is twice dead.' " 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Lenox slowly, " of course, that 
 is all true." 
 
 " From her standpoint," said Lois. " That is ac- 
 cording to ray charge, which you disallowed." 
 
 " From her standpoint ? " repeated Mr. Lenox 
 " May I ask for an explanation ? " 
 
 " I mean, that as she saw things, 
 
 " ' The first of any 
 Seem the happiest years that come.' " 
 
 "Well of course!" said Mrs. Lenox. "Does not 
 everybody say so ? " 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 " Does not everybody agree in that judgment, 
 Miss Lothrop ? " urged the gentleman. 
 
 "I dare say everybody looking from that stand- 
 point," said Lois. "And the poets write accord- 
 ingly. They are all of them seeing shadows." 
 
 " How can they help seeing shadows ? " returned 
 Mrs. Lenox impatiently. " The shadows are there !
 
 4.10 NOBODY. 
 
 "Yes," said Lois, "the shadows aie there." But 
 there was a reservation in her voice. 
 
 " Do not you, then, reckon the years of childhood 
 the happiest ? " Mr. Lenox inquired. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But you cannot have had much experience 
 of life," said Mrs. Lenox, "to say so. I don't 
 see how they can help being the happiest, to any 
 one." 
 
 " I believe," Lois answered, lowering her voice a 
 little, " that if we could see all, we should see that 
 the oldest person in our company is the happiest 
 here." 
 
 The eyes of the strangers glanced towards the 
 old lady in her low chair at the front of the ox 
 cart. In her wrinkled face there was not a line of 
 beauty, perhaps never had been; in spite of its 
 sense and character unmistakeable; it was grave, 
 she was thinking her own thoughts; it was weath- 
 er-beaten, so to say, with the storms of life; and 
 yet there was an expression of unruffled repose 
 upon it, as calm as the glint of stars in a still lake. 
 Mrs. Lenox's look was curiously incredulous, scorn- 
 ful, and wistful, together ; it touched Lois. 
 
 " One's young years ought not to be one's best," 
 she said 
 
 " How are you going to help it ? " came almost 
 querulously. Lois thought, if she were Mr. Lenox, 
 she would not feel flattered. 
 
 " When one is young, one does not know dis- 
 appointment," the other went on.
 
 POETRY. 411 
 
 " And when one is old, one may get the better 
 of disappointment." 
 
 " When one is young, everything is fresh." 
 
 " I think things grow fresher to me with every 
 year," said Lois laughing. " Mrs. Lenox, it is pos- 
 sible to keep one's youth." 
 
 " Then you have found the philosopher's stone ? " 
 said Mr. Lenox. 
 
 Lois's smile was brilliant, but she said nothing to 
 that. She was beginning to feel that she had talked 
 more than her share, and was inclined to draw back. 
 Then there came a voice from the arm chair, it came 
 upon a pause of stillness, with its quiet, firm tones. 
 
 " * He satisfieth thy mouth with good things, so 
 that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.' " 
 
 The voice came like an oracle, and was listened 
 to with somewhat of the same silent reverence. 
 But after that pause Mr. Lenox remarked that he 
 never understood that comparison. What was it 
 ibout an eagle's youth ? 
 
 " Why," said Lois, " an eagle never grows old ! " 
 
 " Is that it ! But I wish you would go on a little 
 further, Miss Lothrop. You spoke of hymn writers 
 having a different standpoint, and of their words as 
 more cheerful than the utterances of other poets. Do 
 you know, I had never thought other poets were 
 not cheerful, until now ; and I certainly never got 
 the notion that hymns were an enlivening sort of 
 literature. I thought they dealt with the shadowy 
 side of life almost exclusively." 
 
 "Well yes, perhaps they do," said Lois; "but
 
 412 NOBODY. 
 
 they go kindling beacons everywhere to light it 
 up; and it is the beacons you see, and not the 
 darkness. Now the secular poets turn that about. 
 They deal with the brightest things they can find; 
 but, to change the figure, they cannot keep the 
 minor chord out of their music." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lenox looked at each other. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," said the latter, "that the 
 hymn writers do not use the minor key? They 
 write in it, or they sing in it, more properly, 
 altogether!" 
 
 " Yes," said Lois, into whose cheeks a slight col- 
 our was mounting; "yes, perhaps; but it is with 
 the blast of the trumpet and the clash of the cym- 
 bals of triumph. There may be the confession of 
 pain, but the cry of victory is there too ! " 
 
 " Victory over what ? " said Mrs. Lenox rather 
 scornfully. 
 
 "Over pain, for one thing," said Lois; "and 
 over loss, and weariness, and disappointment." 
 
 "You will have to confirm your words by ex- 
 amples, again, Lois," said Mrs. Barclay. " We do 
 not all know hymn literature as well as you do." 
 
 " I never saw anything of all that in hymns," said 
 Mrs. Lenox. " They always sound a little, to me, 
 like dirges." 
 
 Lois hesitated. The cart was plodding along 
 through the smooth lanes at the rate of less than 
 a mile an hour, the oxen swaying from side to side 
 with their slow, patiant steps. The level country 
 around lay sleepily still under the hot afternoon
 
 POETRY. 413 
 
 sun ; it was rarely that any human stir was to be 
 seen, save only the ox driver walking beside the 
 cart. He walked beside the cart, not the oxen; 
 evidently lending a curious ear to what was spoken 
 in the company; on which account also the prog- 
 ress of the vehicle was a little less lively than it 
 might have been. 
 
 " My Cynthy's writ a lot o' hymns," he remarked 
 just here. " I never heerd no trumpets in 'em, 
 though. I don' know what them other things is." 
 
 " Cymbals ? " said Lois. " They are round, thin 
 plates of metal, Mr. Sears, with handles on one side 
 to hold them by; and the player clashes them to- 
 gether, at certain parts of the music as you would 
 slap the palms of your hands." 
 
 " Doos, hey ? I want to know ! And what doos 
 they sound like ? " 
 
 "I can't tell," said Lois. "They sound shrill, 
 and sweet, and gay." 
 
 " But that's cur'ous sort o' church music ! " said 
 the farmer. 
 
 "Now, Miss Lothrop, you must let us hear the 
 figurative cymbals," Mr. Lenox reminded her. 
 
 " Do ! " said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " There cannot be much of it," opined Mrs. Lenox. 
 
 " On the contrary," said Lois ; " there is so much 
 of it that I am at a loss where to begin. 
 
 " 'I love yon pale blue sky; it is the floor 
 Of that glad home where I shall shortly be; 
 A home from which I shall go out no more, 
 From toil and grief and vanity set free.
 
 414 NOBOD\. 
 
 " ' I gaze upn yon everlasting arch, 
 
 Up which the bright stars wander as they shin a * 
 And, as I mark them in their nightly march, 
 I think how soon that journey shall be mine 1 
 
 " 'Yon silver drift of silent cloud, far tip 
 
 In the still heaven through you my pathway lies: 
 Yon rugged mountain peak how soon your top 
 Shall I behold beneath me, as I rise ! 
 
 " 'Not many more of life's slow-pacing hours, 
 Shaded with sorrow's melancholy hue; 
 Oh what a glad ascending shall be ours, 
 Oh what a pathway up yon starry blue ! 
 
 " ' A journey like Elijah's, swift and bright, 
 Caught gently upward to an early crown, 
 In heaven's own chariot of all-blazing light, 
 With death un tasted and the grave unknown.' " 
 
 "That's not like any hymn I ever heard," re- 
 marked Mrs. Lenox, after a pause had followed 
 the last words. 
 
 "That is a hymn of Dr. Bonar," said Lois. " I 
 took it merely because it came first into my head. 
 Long ago somebody else wrote something very 
 like it 
 
 " ' Ye stars are but the shining dust 
 Of my divine abode; 
 The pavement of those heavenly courts 
 Where I shall see my God. 
 
 " ' The Father of unnumbered lights 
 Shall there his beams display ; 
 And not one moment's darkness mix 
 With that unvaried day.' 
 
 " Do you hear the cymbals, Mrs. Lenox ? "
 
 POETRY. 415 
 
 There came here a long breath, it sounded like 
 a breath of satisfaction or rest ; it was breathed by 
 Mrs. Armadale. In the stillness of their progress, 
 the slowly revolving wheels making no noise on 
 the smooth road, and the feet of the oxen falling 
 almost soundlessly, they all heard it; and they all 
 felt it. It was nothing less than an echo of what 
 Lois had been repeating; a mute "Even so! " prob- 
 ably unconscious and certainly undesigned. Mrs. 
 Lenox glanced that way. There was a far-off look 
 on the old worn face, and lines of peace all about 
 the lips and the brow and the quiet folded hands. 
 Mrs. Lenox did not know that a sigh came from 
 herself as her eyes turned away. 
 
 Her husband eyed the three women curiously. 
 They were a study to him, albeit he hardly knew 
 the grammar of the language in which so many 
 things seemed to be written on their faces. Mrs 
 Armadale's features, if strong, were of the homeliest 
 kind; work-worn and weather-worn, to boot; yet 
 the young man was filled with reverence as he 
 looked from the hands in their cotton gloves, 
 folded on her lap, to the hard features shaded 
 and framed by the white sunbonnet. The abso- 
 lute, profound calm was imposing to him; the 
 still peace of the spirit was attractive. He looked 
 at his wife; and the contrast struck even him. 
 Her face was murky. It was impatience, in part, 
 he guessed, which made it so; but why was she 
 impatient? It was cloudy with unhappiness; and 
 ehe ought to be very happy, Mr. Lenox thought;
 
 416 NOBODY. 
 
 had she not everything in the world that she 
 cared about? How could there be a cloud of 
 unrest and discontent on her brow, and those 
 displeased lines about her lips? His eye turned 
 to Lois, and lingered, as long as it dared. There 
 was peace too, very sunny, and a look of lofty 
 thought, and a brightness that seemed to know 
 no shadow; though at the moment she was not 
 smiling. 
 
 " Are you not going on, Miss Lothrop ? " he saiu 
 gently; for he felt Mrs. Barclay's eye upon him. 
 And besides, he wanted to provoke the girl t( 
 speak more. 
 
 " 1 could go on till I tired you," said Lois. 
 
 "I do not think you could," he returned pleasant- 
 ly. " What can we do better? We are in a most 
 pastoral frame of mind, with pastoral surroundings; 
 poetry could not be better accompanied." 
 
 " When one gets excited in talking, perhaps 
 one had better stop," Lois said modestly. 
 
 " On the contrary ! Then the truth will come 
 -mt best." 
 
 Lois smiled and shook her head. "We ahall 
 soon be at the shore. Look, this way we turn 
 down to go to it, and leave the high road." 
 
 " Then make haste ! " said Mr. Lenox. " It will 
 sound nowhere better than here." 
 
 *' Yes, go on," said his wife now, raising her 
 heavy eyelids." 
 
 " Well " said Lois. " Do you remember Bry- 
 ant's ' Thanatopsis ' ? "
 
 POETRY. 41? 
 
 " Of course. That is bright enough at any 
 rate," said the lady. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " Yes ! What is the matter with it ? " 
 
 " Dark and earthly." 
 
 " I don't think so at all ! " cried Mrs. Lenox, 
 now becoming excited in her turn. " What would 
 you have? I think it is beautiful! And elevated; 
 and hopeful." 
 
 "Can you repeat the last lines? " 
 
 " No ; but I dare say you can. You seem to me 
 to have a library of poets in your head." 
 
 " I can," said Mrs. Barclay here, putting in her 
 word at this not very civil speech. And she went 
 on. 
 
 " ' The gay will laugh 
 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
 And make their bed with thee.' " 
 
 "Well, of course," said Mrs.Lenox. "That is true.' 
 "Is it cheerful?" said Mrs. Barclay. "But that 
 is not the last. 
 
 " ' So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, which moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.' "
 
 418 NOBODY. 
 
 " There ! " Mrs. Lenox exclaimed. " What would 
 you have, better than that ? " 
 
 Lois looked at her, and said nothing. The look 
 irritated husband and wife, in different ways; her 
 to impatience, him to curiosity. 
 
 " Have you got anything better, Miss Lothrop?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "You can judge. Compare that with a dying 
 Christian's address to his soul. 
 
 " 'Deathless principle, arise; 
 Soar, them native of the skies. 
 Pearl of price, by Jesus bought, 
 To his glorious likeness wrought, 
 Go, to shine before the throne; 
 Deck the mediatorial crown; 
 Go, his triumphs to adorn; 
 Made for God, to God return.' 
 
 M I won't give you the whole of it. 
 
 "'Is thy earthly house distressed? 
 Willing to retain her guest? 
 'Tis not thou, but she, must die; 
 Fly, celestial tenant, fly. 
 Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay, 
 Sweetly breathe thyself away: 
 Singing, to thy crown remove, 
 Swift of wing, and fired with love. 
 
 " ' Shuclder not to pass the stream: 
 Venture all thy care on him; 
 Him whose dying love and power 
 Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar. 
 Safe is the expanded wave, 
 Gentle as a summer's eve; 
 Not one object of his care 
 Ever suffered shipwreck there.' "
 
 POETRY. 419 
 
 " That aint no hymn in the book, is it ? " inquired 
 the ox driver. " Haw ! go 'long. That aint in 
 the book, is it, Lois ? " 
 
 " Not in the one we use in church, Mr. Sears." 
 
 " I wisht it was ! like it fust rate. Never heerd 
 it afore in my life." 
 
 "There's as good as that in the church book," 
 remarked Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "Yes," said Lois; "I like Wesley's hymn even 
 better. 
 
 " 'Come, let us join our friends above, 
 
 That have obtained the prize; 
 And on the eagle wings of love 
 To joys celestial rise. 
 
 ' One army of the living God, 
 
 To his command we bow; 
 Part of his host have crossed the flood, 
 
 And part are crossing now. 
 
 " ' His militant embodied host, 
 
 With wishful looks we stand, 
 
 And long to see that happy coast, 
 
 And reach the heavenly land. 
 
 " ' E'en now, by faith, we join our hands 
 
 With those that went before; 
 And greet the blood-besprinkled bands 
 On the eternal shore.' "
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 LONG CLAMS. 
 
 'T^HERE was a soft ring in Lois's voice; it might 
 1 be an echo of the trumpets and cymbals of 
 which she had been speaking. Yet not done for 
 effect; it was unconscious, and delicate as inde- 
 scribable, for which reason it had the greater 
 power. The party remained silent for a few min- 
 utes, all of them; during which a killdeer on the 
 fence uttered his little shout of gratulation ; and 
 the wild, salt smell coming from the Sound and the 
 not distant ocean, joined with the silence, and 
 Lois's hymn, gave a peculiar impression of solitude 
 and desolation to at least one of the party. The 
 cart entered an enclosure and halted before a small 
 building at the edge of the shore, just above high 
 water mark. There were several such buildings 
 scattered along the shore at intervals, some en- 
 closed, some not. The whole breadth of the Sound 
 lay in view, blinking under the summer sun; yet 
 the air was far fresher here than it had been in the 
 village. The tide was half out; a wide stretch of 
 wet sand, with little pools in the hollows, inter- 
 (420)
 
 LONG CLAMS. 421 
 
 vened between the rocks and the water ; the rocks 
 being no magnificent buttresses of the land, but 
 large and small boulders strewn along the shore 
 edge, hung with seaweed draperies; and where 
 there were not rocks there was a growth of rushes 
 on a mud bottom. The party were helped out of 
 the cart one by one, and the strangers surveyed 
 the prospect. 
 
 " ' Afar in the desert,' this is, I declare," said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Might as well be," echoed his wife. " What- 
 ever do you come here for?" she said, turning 
 to Lois ; " and what do you do when you are 
 here ? " 
 
 " Get some clams and have supper." 
 
 " Clams ! " with an inimitable accent. " Where 
 do you get clams?" 
 
 " Down yonder at the edge of the rushes." 
 
 " Who gets them ? and how do you get them ? " 
 
 " I guess I shall get them to-day. we do it 
 with a hoe." 
 
 Lois stayed for no more, but ran in. The in 
 terior room of the house, which was very large for 
 a bathing house, was divided in two by a partition. 
 In the inner, smaller room, Lois began busily to 
 change her dress. On the walls hung a number 
 of bathing suits of heavy flannel, one of which she 
 appropriated. Charity came in after her. 
 
 " You aint a goin' for clams, Lois ? Well, 1 
 wouldn't, if I was you." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 422 NOBODY. 
 
 " I wouldn't make myself such a sight, for folks 
 to see." 
 
 "I don't at all do it for folks to see, but that 
 folks may eat. We have brought 'em here, and 
 now we must give them something for supper." 
 
 " Are you goin' with bare feet ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " said Lois laughing. " Do you 
 think I am going to spoil my best pair of shoes 
 for"vanity's sake ? " And she threw off shoes and 
 stockings as she spoke, and shewed a pair of 
 pretty little white feet which glanced coquettishly 
 under the blue flannel. 
 
 " Lois, what's brought these folks here ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know." 
 
 " I wish they'd staid where they belong. That 
 woman's just turning up her nose at every blessed 
 thing she sees." 
 
 " It won't hurt the Sound ! " said Lois laughing. 
 
 "What did they come for?" 
 
 "I can't tell; but, Charity, it will never do to 
 let them go away feeling they got nothing by 
 coming. So you have the kettle boiled, will you, 
 and the table all ready and I'll try for the clams." 
 
 "They won't like 'em." 
 
 "Can't help that." 
 
 " And what am I going to do with Mr. Sears ? " 
 
 " Give him his supper of course." 
 
 " Along with all the others ? " 
 
 "You must. You cannot set two tables." 
 
 "There's aunt Anne!" exclaimed Charity; and 
 in the next minute aunt Anne came round to them
 
 LONG CLAMS. 423 
 
 by the front steps; for each half of the bathing 
 house had its own door of approach, as well as a 
 door of communication. Mrs. Marx came in, sur- 
 veyed Lois, and heard Charity's statement. 
 
 " These things will happen in the best regulated 
 families," she remarked, beginning also to loosen 
 her dress. 
 
 " What are you going to do, aunt Anne ? " 
 
 " Going after clams, with Lois. We shall want 
 a bushel or less; and we can't wait till the moon 
 rises, to eat 'em." 
 
 "And how am I going to set the table, with 
 them all there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Marx laughed. " I expect they're like cats 
 in a strange garret. Set your table just as usual, 
 Gharry; push 'em out o' the way if they get in 
 it. Now then, Lois. ' 
 
 - And slipping down the steps and away oft' to 
 the stretch of mud where the rushes grew, two ex- 
 traordinary flannel-clad, barefooted figures, topped 
 with sunbonnets and armed with hoes and baskets, 
 were presently seen to be very busy there about 
 something. Charity opened the door of communi- 
 cation between the two parts of the house, and 
 surveyed the party. Mrs. Barclay sat on the step 
 outside, looking over the plain of waters, with her 
 head in her hand. Mrs. Armadale was in a rock- 
 ing chair, just within the door, placidly knitting. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lenox, somewhat further back, seemed 
 not to know just what to do with themselves; and 
 Madge, holding a little aloof, met her sister's eye
 
 424 NOBODY. 
 
 with <*n expression of despair and doubt. Outside, 
 at the foot of the steps where Mrs. Barclay sat, 
 lounged the ox driver. 
 
 " Ben here afore ? " he asked confidentially of 
 the lady. 
 
 "Yes, once or twice. I never came in an ox 
 cart before." 
 
 " I guess you haint," he replied, chewing a blade 
 of rank grass which he had pulled for the purpose. 
 " My judgment is we had a fust rate entertainment, 
 comiu' down." 
 
 " I quite agree with you." 
 
 "Now in anythin' but an ox cart, you couldnt 
 ha' had it." 
 
 "No, not so well, certainly." 
 
 " / couldn't ha' had it, anyway, withouten we'd 
 come so softly. I declare, I believe them critters 
 stepped soft o' purpose. It's better'ri a book, to 
 hear that girl talk, now, aint it?" 
 
 "Much better than many books." 
 
 " She's got a lot o' 'em inside her head. That 
 beats me! She allays was smart, Lois was; but 
 I'd no idee she was so full o' book larnin'. Books 
 is a great thing ! " And he heaved a sigh. 
 
 "Do you have time to read much yourself, sir?" 
 
 "Depends on the book," he said with a bit of 
 a laugh. "Accordin' to that, I get much or little. 
 No; in these here summer days a man can't dc 
 much at books; the evenin's is short, you see, and 
 the days is long; and the days is full o' work 
 The winter's the time for readin'. I got hold o
 
 LONG CLAMS. 425 
 
 a book last winter that was wuth a great deal 
 o' time, and got it. I never liked a book better. 
 That was Rollin's Ancient History." 
 
 "Ah?" said Mrs. Barclay. "So you enjoyed 
 that ? " 
 
 "Ever read it?" 
 
 "Yes." ' 
 
 " Didn't you enjoy it? " 
 
 " I believe I like Modern history better." 
 
 " I've read some o' that too," said he meditatively. 
 "It aint so different. 'Seems to me, folks is allays 
 pretty much alike ; only we call things by different 
 names. Alexander the Great, now, he warn't much 
 different from Napoleon Buonaparte." 
 
 "Wasn't he a better man?" inquired Mr. Lenox 
 putting his head out at the door. 
 
 "Wall, I don' know; it's difficult, you know, 
 to judge of folks' insides; but I don't make much 
 count of a man that drinks -himself to death at 
 thirty." 
 
 " Haven't you any drinking in Shampuashuh ? " 
 
 " Wall, there aint much ; and what there is, is 
 done in the dark, like. You won't find no rum 
 shops open." 
 
 " Indeed ! How long has the town been so 
 distinguished ? " 
 
 " I guess it's five year. I know it is; for it was 
 just afore we put in our last President. Then we 
 voted liquor shouldn't bepresidentin Shampuashuh." 
 
 " Do you get along any better for it ? " 
 
 " Wall " slowly " I should say we did. There
 
 426 NOBODY. 
 
 aint no quarrellin' nor fightin', nor anybody took 
 up for the jail, nor no one livin' in the poor house 
 'thout it's some tramp on his way to some place 
 where there is liquor. An' he don't want to 
 stay." 
 
 " What are those two figures yonder among the 
 grass?" Mrs. Lenox now asked; she v also having 
 come out of the house in search of objects of in- 
 terest, the interior offering none. 
 
 "Them?" said Mr. Sears. "Them's Lois and her 
 aunt Their baskets is gettin' heavy, too. I'll 
 make the fire for ye, Miss Charity," he cried, lift- 
 ing his voice; and therewith disappeared. 
 
 "What are they doing?" Mrs. Lenox asked 
 in a lower tone. 
 
 " Digging clams," Mrs. Barclay informed her. 
 
 "Digging clams! How do they dig them?" 
 
 " With a hoe, I believe." 
 
 " I ought to go and offer my services," said the 
 gentleman, rising. 
 
 " Do not think of it," said Mrs. Barclay. " You 
 could not go without plunging into wet, soft mud; 
 the clams are found only there, I believe." 
 
 " How do they go ? " 
 
 " Barefoot dressed for it" 
 
 " C/ndressed for it," said Mrs. Lenox. " Barefoot 
 in the mud! Could you have conceived it! " 
 
 "They say the mud is warm," Mrs. Barclay re- 
 turned, keeping back a smile. 
 
 "But how horrid!" 
 
 "I am told it is very good sport. The clams are
 
 LONG CLAMS. 427 
 
 shy, and endeavour to take flight when they hear 
 the strokes of the hoe ; so that it comes to a trial of 
 speed between the pursuer and the pursued; which 
 is quite exciting." 
 
 " I should think, if I could see a clam, I could 
 pi ok it up," Mrs. Lenox said scornfully. 
 
 "Yes; you cannot see them." 
 
 "Do you mean, they run away under ground?" 
 
 "So I am told." 
 
 "How can they? they have no feet." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay could not help laughing now, and 
 confessed her ignorance of the natural powers of 
 the clam family. 
 
 "Where is that old man gone to make his fire? 
 didn't he say he was going to make a fire? " 
 
 "Yes; in the cooking house." 
 
 "Where is that?" And Mrs. Lenox came down 
 the steps and went to explore. A few yards from 
 the bathing house, just within the enclosure fence, 
 she found a small building, hardly two yards square, 
 but thoroughly built and possessing a chimney. 
 The door stood open ; within was a cooking stove, 
 in which fire was roaring; a neat pile of billets of 
 wood for firing, a tea-kettle, a large iron pot, and 
 several other kitchen utensils. 
 
 "What is this for?" inquired Mrs". Lenox, look- 
 ing curiously in. 
 
 " Wall, I guess we're goin' to hev supper by and 
 by; ef the world don't come to an end sooner than 
 I expect, we will, sure. I'm a gettin' ready." 
 
 And is this place built and arranged just for the
 
 428 NOBODY. 
 
 sake of having supper, as you call it. down here 
 once iu a while ? " 
 
 " Couldn't be no better arrangement," said Mr. 
 Sears. " This stove draws first-rate." 
 
 " But this is a great deal of trouble. I should 
 think they would take their clams home and have 
 them there." 
 
 " Some folks doos," returned Mr. Sears. " These 
 here folks knows what's good. Wait till you see. 
 I tell you! long clams, fresh digged, and b'iled as 
 soon as they're fetched in, is somethin' you never 
 see beat." 
 
 " Long clams," repeated the lady. " Are they not 
 the usual sort ? " 
 
 " Depends on what you're used to. These is us- 
 ual here, and I'm glad ori't. Bound clams aint no- 
 wheres alongside o' 'em." 
 
 He went off to fill the kettle, and the lady re- 
 turned slowly round the house to the steps and the 
 door, which were on the sea side. Mr. Lenox had 
 gone in and was talking to Mrs. Armadale; Mrs. 
 Barclay was in her old position on the steps look- 
 ing out to sea. There was a wonderful light of 
 westering rays on land and water; a rich gleam 
 from brown rock and green sea-weed; a glitter and 
 fresh sparkle on the waves of the incoming tide; 
 an indescribable freshness and life in the air and in 
 the light; a delicious invigoration in the salt breath 
 of the ocean. Mrs. Barclay sat drinking it all in, 
 like one who had been long athirst. Mrs. Lenox 
 stood looking, half cognisant of what was before
 
 LONG CLAMS. 429 
 
 her, more than half impatient and scornful of it; 
 yet even on her the witchery of the place and the 
 scene was not without its effect. 
 
 "Do you come here often?" she asked Mrs. 
 Barclay. 
 
 "Never so often as I would like." 
 
 "I should think you would be tired to death!" 
 
 Then, as Mrs. Barclay made no answer, she looked 
 at her watch. 
 
 " Our train is not till ten o'clock," she remarked. 
 
 " Plenty of time," said the other. And then there 
 was silence; and the sun's light grew more wester- 
 ing, and the sparkle on earth and water more fresh, 
 and the air only more and more sweet; till two fig 
 ures were discerned approaching the bathing house, 
 carrying hoes slung over their shoulders arid bas- 
 kets, evidently filled, in their hands. They went 
 round the house towards the cook house; and Mrs. 
 Barclay came down from her seat and went to meet 
 them there, Mrs. Lenox following. 
 
 Two such figures! Sunbonnets shading merry 
 faces, flushed with business; blue flannel bathing 
 suits draping very unpicturesquely the persons, 
 bare feet stained with mud, baskets full of the 
 delicate fish they had been catching. 
 
 " What a quantity ! " exclaimed Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " Yes, because I had aunt Anne to help. We 
 cannot boil them all at once, but that is all the 
 better. They will come hot and hot." 
 
 "You don't mean that you are going to cook all 
 those ? " said Mrs. Lenox incredulously.
 
 430 NOBODY. 
 
 "There will not be one too many," said Loia 
 w You do not know long clams yet." 
 
 " They are ugly things ! " said the other with a 
 look of great disgust into the basket. "I don't 
 think I could touch them." 
 
 "There's no obligation," responded here Mrs. 
 Marx She had thrown one basketful into a huge 
 pan and was washing them free from the mud and 
 sand of their original sphere. " It's a free country. 
 But looks don't prove much neither at the shore 
 nor anywhere else. An ugly shell often covers a 
 good fish. So I find it ; and t'other way." 
 
 " How do you get them ? " inquired Mr. Lenox 
 who also came now to the door of the cook house. 
 Lois made her escape. "I see you make use of 
 hoes." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Marx, throwing her clams 
 about in the water with great energy ; " we dig for 
 'em. See where the clam lives, and then drive at 
 him, and don't be slow about it; and then when 
 the clam spits at you, you know you're on his 
 heels or on his track, I should say ; and you take 
 care of your eyes and go ahead, till you catch up 
 with him; and then you've got him. And every 
 one you throw into your basket you feel gladder 
 and gladder; in fact, as the basket grows heavy 
 your heart grows light. And that's diggin' for 
 long clams." 
 
 "The best part of it is the hunt, isn't it?" 
 
 " I'll take your opinion on that after supper." 
 
 Mr. Lenox laughed, and he and his wife saun-
 
 LONG CLAMS. 
 
 tered round to the front again. The freshness, the 
 sweetness, the bright rich colouring of sky and 
 water and land, the stillness, the strangeness, the 
 novelty, all moved Mr. Lenox to say, 
 
 "I would not have missed this for a hundred 
 dollars!" 
 
 "Missed what?" asked his wife. 
 
 "This whole afternoon." 
 
 * It's one way that people live, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, for they really do live ; there is no stag- 
 nation; that is one thing that strikes me." 
 
 " Don't you want to buy a farm here, and settle 
 down ? " asked Mrs. Lenox scornfully. " Live on 
 hymns and long clams ? " 
 
 Meanwhile the interior of the bathing house 
 was changing its aspect. Part of the partition of 
 boards had been removed and a long table impro- 
 vised, running the length of the house, and made 
 of planks laid on trestles. White cloths hid the 
 rudeness of this board, and dishes and cups and 
 viands were giving it a most hospitable look. A 
 whiff of coffee aroma came now and then through 
 the door at the back of the house, which opened 
 near the place of cookery; piles of white bread 
 and brown gingerbread, and golden butter and 
 rosy ham, and new cheese, made a most abundant 
 and inviting display; and after the guests were 
 seated, Mr. Sears came in bearing a great dish 
 of the clams, smoking hot. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Lenox was hungry, through the com- 
 bined effects of salt air and an early dinner; she
 
 432 NOBODY. 
 
 bund bread and butter and coffee and ham most 
 excellent, but looked askance at the dish of clams; 
 which however, she saw emptied with astonishing 
 rapidity. Noticing at last a striking heap of shells 
 beside her husband's plate, the lady's fastidiousness 
 gave way to curiosity; and after that, it was well 
 that another big dishful was coming, or somebody 
 would have been obliged to go short. 
 
 At ten o'clock that evening Mr. and Mrs. Lenox 
 took the night train to Boston. 
 
 " I never passed a pleasanter afternoon in my 
 life," was the gentleman's comment as the train 
 started. 
 
 " Pretty faces go a great way always with you 
 men ! " answered his wife. 
 
 "There is something more than a pretty face 
 there. And she is improved, changed, somehow, 
 since a year ago. What do you think now of 
 your brother's choice, Julia ? " 
 
 " It would have been his ruin ! " said the lady 
 violently. 
 
 " I declare, I doubt it. I am afraid he'll never 
 find a better. I am afraid you have done him 
 mistaken service." 
 
 " George, this girl is nobody" 
 
 " She is a lady. And she is intelligent, and she 
 is cultivated, and she has excellent manners. I 
 see no fault at all to be found. Tom does not 
 need money." 
 
 ' She is nobody, nevertheless, George ! It would 
 have been miserable for Tom to lose all the advan
 
 LONG CLAMS. 
 
 tage he is going to have with his wife, and to 
 marry this girl whom no one knows, and who 
 knows nobody." 
 
 " I am sorry for poor Tom ! " 
 
 " George you are very provoking. Tom will 
 live to thank mamma and me all his life." 
 
 " Do you know, I don't believe it ? I am glad 
 to see shes all right, anyhow. I was afraid at the 
 Isles she might have been bitten." 
 
 " You don't know anything about it," returned 
 his wife sharply. " Women don't shew. I think 
 she was taken with Tom." 
 
 "I hope not!" said the gentleman; "that's all 
 I have to say."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A VISITER. 
 
 A FTER that summer day, the time sped on 
 /I smoothly at Shampuashuh; until the autumn 
 coolness had replaced the heat of the dog days, 
 and hay harvest and grain harvest were long over, 
 and there began to be a suspicion of frost in the 
 air. Lois had gathered in her pears, and was gar- 
 nering her apples. There were two or three fa- 
 mous apple trees in the Lothrop old garden, the 
 fruit of which kept sound and sweet all through the 
 winter and was very good to eat. 
 
 One fair day in October, Mrs. Barclay, wanting 
 to speak with Lois, was directed to the garden and 
 sought her there. The day was as mild as sum- 
 mer, without summer's passion, and without spring's 
 impulses of hope and action. A quiet day; the air 
 was still; the light was mellow, not brilliant; the 
 sky was clear, but no longer of an intense blue; 
 the little racks of cloud were lying supine on its 
 calm depths, apparently having nowhere to go and 
 nothing to do. The driving, sweeping, changing 
 
 (434)
 
 A VISITER. 435 
 
 forms of vapour, which in spring had come with 
 rain and in summer had come with thunder, had 
 all disappeared; and these little delicate lines of 
 cloud lay purposeless and at rest on the blue. Na- 
 ture had done her work for the year; she had 
 grown the grass and ripened the grain, and manu- 
 factured the wonderful juices in the tissues of the 
 fruit, and laid a new growth of woody fibre round 
 the heart of the trees. She was resting now, as it 
 were, content with her work. And so seemed Lois 
 to be doing, at the moment Mrs. Barclay entered 
 the garden. It was unusual to find her so. I sup- 
 pose the witching beauty of the day beguiled her. 
 But it was of another beauty Mrs. Barclay thought, 
 as she drew near the girl. 
 
 A short ladder stood under one of the apple trees, 
 upon which Lois had been mounting to pluck her 
 fruit. On the ground below stood two large bas- 
 kets, full now of the ruddy apples, shining and 
 beautiful. Beside them, on the dry turf, sat Lois 
 with her hands in her lap; and Mrs. Barclay won- 
 dered at her as she drew near. 
 
 Yet it is not too easy to tell why, at least so as 
 to make the reader get at the sense of the words. 
 I have the girl's image before my eyes, mentally, 
 but words have neither form nor colour; how shall 
 I paint with them ? It was not the beauty of mere 
 form and colour, either, that struck Mrs. Barclay 
 in Lois's face. You may easily see more regular 
 features and more dazzling complexion. It was 
 not any particular brilliance of eye, or piquancy
 
 i36 NOBODY. 
 
 of expression. There was a soundness and fulness 
 of young life; that is not so uncommon either. 
 There was a steadfast strength and sweetness of 
 nature. There was an unconscious, innocent grace, 
 that is exceedingly rare. And a high, noble ex- 
 pression of countenance and air and movement, 
 euoh as can belong only to one whose thoughts and 
 aims never descend to pettinesses; who assimilates 
 nobility by being always concerned with what is 
 noble. And then, the face was very fair; the ruddy 
 brown hair very rich and abundant; the figure 
 graceful and good; all the spiritual beauty I have 
 been endeavouring to describe had a favouring 
 groundwork of nature to display itself upon. Mrs. 
 Barclay's steps grew slower and slower as she came 
 near, that she might prolong the view, which to 
 her was so lovely. Then Lois looked at her and 
 slightly smiled. 
 
 " Lois, my dear, what are you doing ? " 
 
 "Not exactly nothing, Mrs. Barclay; though it 
 looks like it. Such a day one cannot bear to go in 
 doors!" 
 
 " You are gathering your apples ? " 
 
 " I have got done for to-day." 
 
 " What are you studying, here beside your bas- 
 kets ? What beautiful apples ! " 
 
 "Aren't they? These are our Royal Reddings; 
 they are good for eating and cooking, and they 
 keep perfectly. If only they are picked off by 
 hand." 
 
 " What were you studying, Lois ? May I not
 
 A VISITER. 437 
 
 know ? Mrs. Barclay took an apple and a seat 
 on the turf beside the girl. 
 
 " Hardly studying. Only musing, as such a day 
 makes one muse. I was thinking, Mrs. Barclay, 
 <vhat use I could make of my life." 
 
 " What use ? Can you make better use of it than 
 rou are doing, in taking care of Mrs. Armadale ? " 
 
 "Yes as things are now. But in the common 
 course of things I should outlive grandmamma." 
 
 " Then you will marry somebody, and take car 
 of him." 
 
 " Very unlikely, I think." 
 
 "May I ask, why?" 
 
 " I do not know anybody that is the sort of man 
 I could marry." 
 
 " What do you require ? " asked Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " A great deal, I suppose," said Lois slowly. " 1 
 have never studied that; I was not studying it just 
 now. But I was thinking, what might be the best 
 way of making myself of some use in the world. 
 Foolish, too." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 "It is no use for us to lay plans for our lives; 
 not much use for us to lay plans for anything. 
 They are pretty sure to be broken up." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Barclay sighing. " I wonder, 
 why!" 
 
 " I suppose, because they do not fall in with 
 God's plans for us." 
 
 " His plans for us," repeated Mrs. Barclay slowly. 
 " Do you believe in such things ? That would mean,
 
 438 NOBODY. 
 
 individual plans, Lois; for you individually, and for 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Barclay that is what I believe." 
 
 " It is incomprehensible to me." 
 
 "Why should it be?" 
 
 " To think that the Highest should concern him- 
 self with such small details." 
 
 "It is just because he is the Highest, and so 
 High, that he can. Besides do we know what 
 are small details?" 
 
 " But why should he care what becomes of us ? " 
 said Mrs. Barclay gloomily. 
 
 " do you ask that ? When he is Love itself, 
 and would have the very best things for each one 
 of us?" 
 
 " We don't have them, I am sure." 
 
 " Because we will not, then. To have them, we 
 must fall in with his plans." 
 
 " My dear Lois, do you know that you are talk- 
 ing the profoundest mysteries ? " 
 
 " No. They are not mysteries to me. The Bible 
 says all I have been saying." 
 
 "That is sufficient for you, and you do not stop 
 to look into the mystery. Lois it is oil mystery. 
 Look at all the wretched ruined lives one sees; 
 what becomes of those plans for good for them ? " 
 
 "Failed, Mrs. Barclay; because of the people's 
 unwillingness to come into the plans." 
 
 "They do not know them ! " 
 
 "No, but they do know the steps which lead 
 into them, and those steps they refuse to take."
 
 A VISITER. 439 
 
 * 1 do not understand you. What steps ? " 
 
 "The Lord does not shew us his plans. He 
 shews us, one by one, the steps he bids us take. 
 If we take them, one by one, they will bring us 
 into all that God has purposed and meant for us 
 the very best that could come to us." 
 
 " And you think His plans and purposes could 
 be overthrown?" 
 
 " Why certainly. Else what mean Christ's lam- 
 entations over Jerusalem ? ' Jerusalem, .... 
 how often would I have gathered thy children to- 
 gether, even as a hen gathereth her brood under 
 her wings, and ye would not.' I would ye would 
 not; and the choice lies with us." 
 
 "And suppose a person falls in with these plans, 
 as you say, step by step?" 
 
 "O then it is all good," said Lois; "the way and 
 the end; all good. There is no mistake nor mis- 
 adventure." 
 
 "Nor disaster?" 
 
 "Not what turns out to be such." 
 
 " Lois," said Mrs. Barclay after a thoughtful 
 pause, "you are a very happy person!" 
 
 "Yes," said Lois smiling; "and I have just told 
 you the reason. Don't you see ? I have no care 
 about anything." 
 
 "On your principles, I do not see what need 
 you had to consider your future way of life; to 
 speculate about it, I mean." 
 
 "No," said Lois rising, "I have not. Only 
 sometimes one must look a little carefully at the
 
 440 NOBODY. 
 
 parting of the ways, to see which road one is 
 meant to take." 
 
 " Sit down again. I did not come out here to 
 talk of all this. I wanted to ask you something." 
 
 Lois sat down. 
 
 " I came to ask a favour." 
 
 "How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, noth- 
 ing we could do could be a favour to you!" 
 
 "Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to 
 come to see me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "May he come?" 
 
 "Why of course." 
 
 "But it is a gentleman." 
 
 "Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no 
 objections to gentlemen." 
 
 "It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very 
 long while ; a dear friend ; a doar friend of my hus- 
 band's in years gone by. He has just returned 
 from Europe ; and he writes to ask if he may call 
 on his way to Boston and spend Sunday with me." 
 
 "He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and 
 we will try to make him comfortable." 
 
 "0, comfortable! there is no question of that 
 But will it not be at all inconvenient?" 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "Then he may come?" 
 
 "Certainly. When does he wish to come?" 
 
 "This week Saturday. His name is Dillwyn." 
 
 "Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw 
 a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs. Wishart's once or twice."
 
 A VlSITER. 441 
 
 " It must be the same. I do not know of two. 
 And he knows Mrs. Wishart. So you remember 
 him. What do you remember about him ? " 
 
 "Not much. I have an impression that he 
 knows a great deal, and has very pleasant man- 
 ners." 
 
 "Quite right. That is the man. So he may 
 come. Thank you." 
 
 Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and 
 carried it into the house, where she deposited it at 
 Mrs. Armadale's feet. 
 
 " They are beautiful this year, aren't they, moth- 
 er ? Girls, we are going to have a visiter." 
 
 Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom 
 paused. Madge was sewing; the needle remained 
 drawn out. Both looked at Lois. 
 
 "A visiter!" came from both pairs of lips. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. A visiter. A gentleman. And 
 he is coming to stay over Sunday. So Gharry, you 
 must see and have things very special. And so 
 must I." 
 
 "A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much 
 younger, gentleman; a travelled gentleman; an 
 elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " What are we to do with him ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Nothing whatever. "We have noth- 
 ing to do with him, and couldn't do it if we had." 
 
 "You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge 
 him and feed him." 
 
 "That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the
 
 442 NOBODV. 
 
 bed in the spare room ; and you may get out your 
 pickles." 
 
 " Pickles ! Is he fond of pickles ? " 
 
 "I don't know!" said Lois laughing still. "I 
 have an impression he is a man who likes all sorts 
 of nice things." 
 
 " I hate men who like nice things ! But Lois ! 
 there will be Saturday tea, and Sunday breakfast and 
 dinner and supper, and Monday morning breakfast." 
 
 " Perhaps Monday dinner." 
 
 " he can't stay to dinner." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It is washing day." 
 
 " My dear Gharry ! to such men Monday is just 
 like all other days; and washing is well, of course 
 a necessity, but it is done by fairies, or it might be, 
 for all they know about it," 
 
 "There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on. 
 "Wouldn't it be a good plan to get uncle Tim 
 to be here ? " 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Why we haven't a man in the house." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 "Who'll talk to him?" 
 
 "Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, 
 Charity dear, see to your pickles." 
 
 " I don't k'now what you mean," said Charity 
 fretfully. " What are we going to have for dinner 
 Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens." 
 
 " No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, 
 just as much with Mr. Dillwyn here."
 
 A VISITER. 443 
 
 ' Dillwyii ! " said Madge. " I've heard you speak 
 of him." 
 
 " Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my 
 New York days." 
 
 " And he gave you lunch." 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good 
 lunch it was. That's why I spoke of pickles, 
 Charity. Do the very best you can." 
 
 "I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the 
 chickens," said Charity, who all this while stood lean- 
 ing upon her broom. "I might do it for once?" 
 
 " Where is your leave to do wrong once?" 
 
 " But this is a particular occasion you may call 
 it a necessity; and necessity makes an exception." 
 -"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. 
 Armadale, who until now had not spoken. 
 
 "Why grandma, you want to treat a stranger 
 well ? " 
 
 " With whatever I have got to give him. But 
 Sunday time isn't mine to give." 
 
 " But necessary things, grandma ? we may do 
 necessary things ? " 
 
 " What have you got in the house ? " 
 
 " Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold 
 ham, that's all. Do you think that's enough?" 
 
 "It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the 
 old lady said complacently. 
 
 "Why don't you cook your chickens and have 
 them cold too ? " Lois asked. 
 
 " Cold fricassee aint worth a cent." 
 
 " Cook them some other way. Koast them,
 
 444 NOBODY. 
 
 or Give them to me, and I'll do them for you ! 
 I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, 
 and apple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my 
 pears and apples, and a pumpkin pie, Charity, 
 and coffee, we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwyn 
 has made a worse dinner in the course of his wan- 
 derings, I'll undertake to maintain." 
 
 " What shall I have for supper ? " Charity asked 
 doubtfully. "Supper comes first." 
 
 " Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And 
 stew up some quinces and apples together, Cherry. 
 You don't want anything more, or better." 
 
 "Do you think he will understand having a cold 
 dinner Sunday?" Charity asked. "Men make so 
 much of hot dinners." 
 
 " What does it signify, my dear, whether he un- 
 derstands it or not?" said Mrs. Armadale. "What 
 we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do. 
 That is all you need mind." 
 
 " I mind what folks think, though," said Charity. 
 " Mrs. Barclay's friend especially." 
 
 " I do not think he will notice it," said simple 
 Mrs. Armadale.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 
 
 THERE was a little more bustle in the house 
 than usual during the next two following 
 days; and the spare room was no doubt put in 
 very particular order, with the best of all the 
 house could furnish on the bed and toilet table. 
 Pantry and larder also were well stocked; and 
 Lois was just watching the preparation of her 
 chickens Saturday evening, and therefore in the 
 kitchen, when Mr. Dillwyn came to the door. 
 Mrs. Barclay herself let him in, and brought him 
 into her own warm, comfortable, luxurious-looking 
 sitting room. The evening was falling dusk, so 
 that the -little wood fire in Mrs. Barclay's chim- 
 ney had opportunity to display itself, and I 
 might say, the room too; which never could have 
 shewed to better advantage. The flickering light 
 danced back again from gilded books, from the 
 polished case of the piano, from picture frames, 
 and pictures, and piles of music, and comfortable 
 easy chairs standing invitingly, and trinkets of 
 art or curiosity; an unrolled engraving in one
 
 446 NOBODY. 
 
 place, a stereoscope in another, a work basket, 
 and the bright brass stand of a microscope. 
 
 The greeting was warm between the two friends; 
 and then Mrs. Barclay sat down and surveyed her 
 visiter, whom she had not seen in so long. He 
 was not a beauty of Tom Caruthers' sort, but he 
 was what I think better; manly and intelligent, 
 and with an air and bearing of frank nobleness 
 which became him exceedingly. That he was a 
 man with a serious purpose in life, or any ob- 
 ject of earnest pursuit, you would not have sup- 
 posed; and that character had never belonged to 
 him. Mrs. Barclay, looking at him, could not see 
 any sign that it was his now. Look and manner 
 were easy and careless as of old. 
 
 "You are not changed," she remarked. 
 
 " What should change me ? " said he, while his 
 eye ran rapidly over the apartment. " And you ? 
 you do not look as if life was stagnating here." 
 
 " It does not stagnate. I never was further 
 from stagnation in all my life." 
 
 " And yet Shampuashuh is in a corner ! " 
 
 " Is not most of the work of the world done in 
 corners ? It is not the butterfly, but the coral in- 
 sect, that lays foundations and lifts up islands out 
 of the sea." 
 
 " You are not a coral insect any more than I 
 am a butterfly," said Dilhvyn laughing. 
 
 "Rather more." 
 
 " I acknowledge it, thankfully. And I am re- 
 joiced to know from vour letters that the seclu
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 447 
 
 sion has been without any evil consequences to 
 yourself. It has been pleasant ? " 
 
 " Royally pleasant. I have delighted in my 
 building; even although I could not tell whether 
 my island would not prove a dangerous one to 
 mariners." 
 
 "I have just been having a discourse on that 
 subject with my sister. I think's one's sisters are 
 I beg your pardon ! the mischief. Tom's sister 
 has done for him ; and mine is very eager to take 
 care of me." 
 
 "Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay 
 with surprise. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind ! I merely told her I 
 was coming up here to see you. A few questions 
 followed, as to what you were doing here, which 
 I did not tell her, by the way, and she hit the 
 bull's eye with the instinctive accuracy of a wo- 
 man; poured out upon me in consequence a lec- 
 ture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to 
 nothing, but that mattered not. All that Tom's 
 sister urged upon him, my good sister pressed 
 upon me." 
 
 "So did I once, did I not?" 
 
 " You are not going to repeat it ? " 
 
 " No ; that is over, for me. I know better. But 
 Philip, I do not see the way very clear before you.' 
 
 He left the matter there, and went off into a talk 
 with her upon widely different subjects; touching 
 or growing out of his travels and experiences dur- 
 ing the last year and a half. The twilight dark-
 
 448 NOBODY. 
 
 ened, and the fire bright^n'jd, and in the light of the 
 fire the two sat and talked; till a door opened, and 
 in the same flickering shine a figure presented it- 
 self which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now 
 it was clothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, 
 and round her shoulders a little white worsted shawl 
 was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentence of 
 introduction, but Mr. Dilhvyn cut her short. 
 
 " Do not do me such dishonour," he said. " Must 
 I suppose that Miss Lothrop has forgotten me ? " 
 
 "Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I 
 remember you very well. Tea will be ready in a 
 minute would you like to see your room first? " 
 
 "You are too kind, to receive me!" 
 
 " It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, 
 and she is at home here; I will get a light." 
 
 Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could 
 not find his own way, was obliged to accept her ser- 
 vices and see her trip up the stairs before him. At the 
 door she handed him the light and -ran down again. 
 There was a fire here too ; a wood fire ; blazing hos- 
 pitably, and throwing its cheery shine upon a wide, 
 pleasant, country room, not like what Mr. Dillwyn 
 was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospit- 
 able. Nothing handsome there ; no articles of lux- 
 ury (beside the fire); the reflection of the blaze 
 came back from dai'k old-fashioned chairs and chests 
 of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and 
 bed, white counterpane arid napery, with a sonsy, 
 sober, quiet air of comfort; and the air was fresh 
 and sweet as air should be, and as air can only be
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 449 
 
 at a distance from the smoke of many chimneys 
 and the congregated habitations of many human 
 beings. I do not think Mr. Dillwyn spent much 
 attention upon these details; yet he felt himself in 
 a sound, clear, healthy atmosphere, socially as well 
 as physically ; also had a perception that it was very 
 far removed from that in which he had lived and 
 breathed hitherto. How simply that girl had lighted 
 him up the stairs, and given him his brass candle- 
 stick at the door of his room ! What a plomb could 
 have been more perfect! I do not mean to imply 
 that Mr. Dillwyn knew the candlestick was brass; 
 I am afraid there was a glamour over his eyes which 
 made it seem golden. 
 
 He found Mrs. Barclay seated in a very thought- 
 ful attitude before her fire, when he came down 
 again; but just then the door of the other room 
 was opened and they were called in to tea. 
 
 The family were in rather gala trim. Lois, as I 
 said, wore indeed only a dark print dress, with her 
 white fichu over it; but Charity had put on her 
 best silk, and Madge had stuck two golden chry- 
 santhemums in her dark hair, (with excellent 
 effect) and Mrs. Armadale was stately in her best 
 cap. Alas, Philip Dillwyn did not know what 
 any of them had on. He was placed next to Mrs. 
 Armadale, and all supper time his special atten- 
 tion, so far as appeared, was given to the old lady. 
 He talked to her, and he served her, with an easy 
 pleasant grace, and without at all putting himself 
 forward or taking the part of the distinguished
 
 i50 NOBODY. 
 
 stranger. It was simply good will and good 
 breeding; however it produced a great effect 
 
 " The air up here is delicious ! " he remarked 
 after he had attended to all the old lady's immedi- 
 ate wants and applied. himself to his own supper. 
 "It gives one a tremendous appetite." 
 
 " I allays like to see folks eat," said Mrs. Arma- 
 dale. " After one's done the gettiii' things ready, 
 I hate to have it all for nothin'." 
 
 " It shall not be for nothing this time, as far as 
 I am concerned." 
 
 " Aint the air good in New York ? " Mrs. Arma- 
 dale next asked. 
 
 " I do not think it ever was so sweet as this. 
 But when you crowd a million or so of people into 
 room that is only enough for a thousand, you can 
 guess what the consequences must be." 
 
 " What do they crowd up so for, then ? " 
 
 " It must be the case in a great city." 
 
 " I don't see the sense o' that," said Mrs. Ar- 
 madale. " Aint the world big enough ? " 
 
 " Far too big," said Mr. Dillwyn. " You see, when 
 people's time is very valuable, they cannot afford 
 to spend too much of it in running about after each 
 other." 
 
 " What makes their time worth any more'n 
 our'n?" 
 
 "They are making money so fast with it." 
 
 "And is that what makes folks' time valey 
 able?" 
 
 " In their opinion, madam."
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 451 
 
 " I never could see no use in bavin' much mon- 
 ey," said the old lady. 
 
 " But there comes a question," said Dillwyn. 
 " What is ' much ' ? " 
 
 " More'n enough, I should say." 
 
 " Enough for what ? That also must be settled." 
 
 " I'm an old-fashioned woman," said the old lady 
 "and I go by the old-f'ashionedst book in the 
 world. That says, ' we brought nothing into this 
 world, and we can carry nothing out ; therefore, hav- 
 ing food and raiment, let us be therewith content.'" 
 
 " But again, what sort of food, and what sort 
 of raiment ? " urged the gentleman pleasantly. 
 "For instance; would you be content to exchange 
 this delicious manufacture, which seems to me 
 rather like ambrosia than common food, for some 
 of the black bread of Norway? with no qualifica- 
 tion of golden butter ? or for Scotch oatmeal ban- 
 nocks ? or for sour corn cake ? " 
 
 " I would be quite content, if it was the Lord's 
 will," said the old lady. "There's no obligation 
 upon anybody to have it sour." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn laughed gently. " I can fancy," he 
 said, "that you never would allow such a derelic- 
 tion in duty. But beside having the bread sweet, 
 is it not allowed us to have the best we can get ? " 
 
 "The best we can make" answered Mrs. Arma- 
 dale ; " I believe in everybody doin' the best he 
 kin with what he has got to work with ; but food 
 aint worth so much that we should pay a large 
 price for it "
 
 452 NOBODY. 
 
 The gentleman's eye glanced with a scarcely 
 perceptible movement over the table at which he 
 was sitting. Bread indeed, in piles of white flaki- 
 ness; and butter; but besides, there was the cold 
 ham in delicate slices, and excellent-looking cheese, 
 and apples in a sort of beautiful golden confection, 
 and cake of superb colour and texture; a pitcher 
 of milk that was rosy sweet, and coffee rich with 
 cream. The glance that took all this in was slight 
 and swift, and yet the old lady was quick enough 
 to see and understand it. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "it's all our'n, all there is on the 
 table. Our cow eats our own grass, and Madge, 
 my daughter, makes the butter and the cheese. 
 We've raised and cured our own pork; and the 
 wheat that makes the bread is grown on our 
 ground too; we farm it out on shares; and it is 
 ground at a mill about four miles off. Our hens 
 lay our eggs; it's all from home." 
 
 "But suppose the case of people who have no 
 ground, nor hens, nor pork, nor cow? they must 
 buy." 
 
 "Of course," said the old lady; "everybody airit 
 farmers." 
 
 " I am ready to wish I was one," said Dillwyn. 
 " But even then, I confess, I should want coffee 
 and tea and sugar as I see you do." 
 
 " Well, those things don't grow in America,' 
 said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "And spice don't, neither, mother," observed 
 Charity.
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 453 
 
 "So it appears that even you send abroad for 
 luxuries," Mr. Dillwyn went on. "And why not? 
 And the question is, where shall we stop? If I 
 want coifee, I must have money to buy it, and the 
 better the coffee the more money; and the same 
 with tea. In cities we must buy all we use or con- 
 sume, unless one is a butcher or a baker. May I 
 not try to get more money, in order that I may 
 have better things? We have got round to our 
 starting point." 
 
 " 'They that will be rich fall into temptation and 
 a snare,' " Mrs. Armadale said quietly. 
 
 "Then where is the line? Miss Lois, you are 
 smiling. Is it at my stupidity ? " 
 
 "No," said Lois. " I was thinking of a lunch 
 such as I have seen it in one of the great New 
 York hotels." 
 
 " Well ? " said he, without betraying on his own 
 part any recollection ; " how does that come 
 in ? By way of illustrating Mrs. Armadale, or 
 me?" " 
 
 " I seem to remember a number of things that 
 illustrate both," said Lois; "but as I profited by 
 them at the time, it would be ungrateful in me to 
 instance them now." 
 
 "You profited by them with pleasure, or other- 
 wise ? " 
 
 " Not otherwise. I was very hungry." 
 
 " You evade my question, however." 
 
 " I will not. I profited by them with much 
 pleasure."
 
 454 NOBODY. 
 
 "Then you are on my side, as far as I can be 
 said to have a side ? " 
 
 "I think not. The pleasure is undoubted; but 
 I do not know that that touches the question of 
 expediency." 
 
 " I think it does. I think it settles the question. 
 Mrs. Armadale, your granddaughter confesses the 
 pleasure ; and what else do we live for, but to get 
 the most good out of life ? " 
 
 "What pleasure does "she confess?" asked the 
 old lady, with more eagerness than her words 
 hitherto had manifested. 
 
 "Pleasure in nice things, grandmother; in par- 
 ticularly nice things; that had cost a great deal 
 to fetch them from nobody knows where; and 
 pleasure in pretty things too. That hotel seemed 
 almost like the halls of Aladdin to my inexperi- 
 enced eyes. There is certainly pleasure in a won- 
 derfully dainty meal, served in wonderful vessels 
 of glass and china and silver, and marble and gold 
 and flowers to help the effect. I could have dreamed 
 myself into a fairy tale, often, if it had not been for 
 the people." 
 
 " Life is not a fairy tale," said Mrs. Armadale 
 somewhat severely. 
 
 "No, grandmother; and so the humanity present 
 generally reminded me. But the illusion for a min- 
 ute was delightful." 
 
 " Is there any harm in making it as much like 
 a faiiy tale as we can ? " 
 
 Some of the little courtesies and hospitalities of
 
 THE VALUE OF MONEY. 455 
 
 the table came in here, and Mr. Dillwyn's question 
 received no answer. His eye went round the table. 
 No, clearly these people did not live in fairyland, 
 and as little in the search after it. Good, strong, 
 sensible, practical faces; women that evidently had 
 their work to do and did it; habitual energy and pur- 
 pose spoke in every one of them, and purpose attained. 
 Here was no aimless dreaming or fruitless wish- 
 ing. The old lady's face was sorely weatherbeaten, 
 but calm as a ship in harbour. Charity was homely, 
 but comfortable. Madge and Lois were blooming 
 in strength and activity, and as innocent apparently 
 of any vague, unfulfilled longings as a new blown 
 rose. Only when Mr. Dillwyn's eye met Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's he was sensible of a different record. He half 
 sighed. The calm and the rest were not there. 
 
 The talk rambled on. Mr. Dillwyn made him- 
 self exceedingly pleasant; told of things he had 
 seen in his travels, things and people, and ways 
 of life; interesting even Mrs. Armadale with a 
 sort of fascinated interest, and gaining, he knew, 
 no little share of her good will. So, just as the 
 meal was ending he ventured to bring forward 
 the old subject again. 
 
 " You will pardon me, Mrs. Armadale," he began, 
 "but you are the first person I ever met who did 
 not value money." 
 
 "Perhaps I am the first person you ever met 
 who had something better." 
 
 "You mean ?" said Philip with a look of in- 
 quiry. " I do not understand."
 
 456 NOBODY. 
 
 " I have treasure in heaven." 
 
 " But the coin of that realm is not current here ? 
 and we are here." 
 
 "That coin makes me rich now; and I take it 
 with me when I go," said the old lady as she 
 rose from the table.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 
 
 MES. BARCLAY returned to her own room, and 
 Mr. Dillwyn was forced to follow her. The 
 door was shut between them and the rest of the 
 household. Mrs. Barclay trimmed her fire, and her 
 guest looked on absently. Then they sat down on 
 opposite sides of the fireplace; Mrs. Barclay smil- 
 ing inwardly, for she knew that Philip was im 
 patient; however nothing could be more sedate 
 to all appearance than she was. 
 
 " Do you hear how the wind moans in the chim- 
 ney ? " she said. " That means rain." 
 
 " Rather dismal, isn't it? " 
 
 "No. In this house nothing is dismal. There 
 is a wholesome way of looking at everything." 
 
 " Not at money ? " 
 
 " It is no use, Philip, to talk to people about 
 what they cannot understand." 
 
 "I thought, understanding on that point was 
 universal." 
 
 (457^
 
 458 NOBODY. 
 
 " They have another standard in this family for 
 weighing things, from that which you and I have 
 been accustomed to go by." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 "I can hardly tell you, in a word. I am not 
 sure that I can tell you at all. Ask Lois." 
 
 "When can I ask her? Do you spend your 
 evenings alone ? " 
 
 " By no means ! Sometimes I go out and read 
 Rob Roy to them. Sometimes the girls come to 
 me for some deeper reading, or lessons." 
 
 " Will they come to-night ? " 
 
 " Of course not ! They would not interfere with 
 your enjoyment of my society." 
 
 " Cannot you ask Lois in, on some pretext?" 
 
 "Not without her sister. It is hard on you, 
 Philip! I will do the best for you I can; but 
 fou must watch your opportunity." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn gave it up with a good grace, and 
 devoted himself to Mrs. Barclay for the rest of the 
 evening. On the other side of the wall separating 
 the two rooms meanwhile a different colloquy had 
 taken place. 
 
 " So that is one of your fine people," said Miss 
 Charity. "Well, I don't think much of him." 
 
 " I have no doubt he would return the compli 
 ment," said Madge. 
 
 "No," said Lois; "I think he is too polite." 
 
 " He was polite to grandmother," returned Char- 
 ity. " Not to anybody else, that I saw. But girls, 
 didn't he like the bread ! "
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 459 
 
 "I thought he liked everything pretty well," 
 said Madge. 
 
 "When's he goin'?" Mrs. Armadale asked sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Monday, some time," Madge answered. "Mrs. 
 Barclay said ' until Monday.' What time Monday 
 I don't know." 
 
 " Well, we've got things enough to hold out till 
 then," said Charity, gathering up her dishes. " It's 
 fun, too; I like to set a nice table." 
 
 "Why, grandmother?" said Lois. "Don't you 
 like Mrs. Barclay's friend ? " 
 
 "Well enough, child. I don't want him for 
 none of our'n." 
 
 "Why, grandmother?" said Madge. 
 
 " His world aint our world, children, and his 
 hopes airit our hopes if the poor soul has any. 
 'Seems to me he's all in the dark." 
 
 "That's only on one subject," said Lois. "About 
 everything else he knows a great deal; and he has 
 seen everything." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Armadale; "very like he has; 
 and he likes to talk about it; and he has a pleas- 
 ant tongue; and he is a civil man. But there's 
 one thing he haint seen, and that is the light; and 
 one thing he don't know, and that is happiness. 
 And he may have plenty of money I dare say he 
 has; but he's what I call a poor man. I don't 
 want you to have no such friends." 
 
 " But grandmother, you do not dislike to have 
 him in the house these two days, do you ? "
 
 460 NOBODY. 
 
 " It can't be helped, my dear, and we'll do the 
 best for him we can. But I don't want you to 
 have no such friends." 
 
 " I believe we should go out of the world to 
 suit grandmother," remarked Charity. "She won't 
 think us safe as long as we're in it" 
 
 The whole family went to church the next morn- 
 ing. Mr. Dillwyn's particular object however was 
 not much furthered. He saw Lois indeed at the 
 breakfast table; and the sight was everything his 
 fancy had painted it. He thought of Milton's 
 
 "Pensive nun, devout and pure, 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure" 
 
 Only the description did not quite fit; for there 
 was a healthy, sweet freshness about Lois which 
 gave the idea of more life and activity, mental 
 and bodily, than could consort with a pensive 
 character. The rest fitted pretty well; and the 
 lines ran again and again through Mr. Dillwyn's 
 head. Lois was gone to church long before the 
 rest of the family set out; and in church she did 
 not sit with the others; and she did not come 
 home with them. However, she was at dinner. 
 But immediately after dinner Mrs. Barclay with- 
 drew again into her own room, and Mr. Dillwyu 
 had no choice but to accompany her. 
 
 " What now ? " he asked. " What do you do the 
 rest of the day ? " 
 
 " I stay at home and read. Lois goes to Sunday 
 school."
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 461 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn looked to the windows. The rain 
 Mrs. Barclay threatened had come; and had al- 
 ready begun in a sort of fury, in company with a 
 wind which drove it and beat it, as it seemed, from 
 all points of the compass at once. The lines of 
 rain drops went slantwise past the windows, and 
 then beat violently upon them; the ground was 
 wet in a few minutes; the sky was dark with its 
 thick watery veils. Wind and rain were holding 
 revelry. 
 
 " She will not go out in this weather," said the 
 gentleman, with conviction which seemed to be 
 agreeable. 
 
 "The weather will not hinder her," returned Mrs. 
 Barclay. 
 
 " This weather?" 
 
 "No. Lois does not mind weather. 1 have 
 learned to know her by this time. Where she 
 thinks she ought to go, or what she thinks she 
 ought to do, there no hindrance will stop her. It 
 is good you should learn to know her too, Philip." 
 
 "Pray tell me, is the question of 'ought' never 
 affected by what should be legitimate hindrances?" 
 
 " They are never credited with being legitimate,'' 
 Mrs. Barclay said with a slight laugh. "The prin- 
 ciple is the same as that old soldier's who said, you 
 know, when ordered upon some difficult duty, ' Sir, 
 if it is possible, it shall be done ; and if it is impossi- 
 ble, it must be done! ' ' 
 
 " That will do for a soldier," said Dillwyn. " At 
 what o'clock does she go ? "
 
 462 NOBODY. 
 
 " In about a quarter of an hour I shall expect to 
 hear her feet pattering softly through the hall, and 
 then the door will open and shut without noise, 
 and a dark figure will shoot past the windows." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn left the room and probably made 
 some preparations; for when a few minutes later a 
 figure all wrapped up in a waterproof cloak did pass 
 softly through the hall, he came out of Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's room and confronted it; and I think his over- 
 coat was on. 
 
 "Miss Lois! you cannot be going out in this 
 storm ? " 
 
 " yes. The storm is nothing only something 
 to fight against." 
 
 "But it blows quite furiously." 
 
 " I don't dislike a wind," said Lois laying her 
 hand on the lock of the door. 
 
 "You have no umbrella?" 
 
 " Don't need it. I am all protected, don't you see? 
 Mr. Dillwyn, you are not going out?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " But you have nothing to call you out?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon. The same thing, I venture 
 to presume, that calls you out, duty. Only in my 
 case the duty is pleasure." 
 
 "You are not going to take care of me?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 >! But there's no need. Not the least in the 
 vorld." 
 
 " From your point of view." 
 
 He was so alertly ready, had the door open and
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 463 
 
 his umbrella spread and stood outside waiting for 
 her, Lois did not know how to get rid of him. She 
 would surely have done it if she could. So she 
 found herself going up the street with him by her 
 side, and the umbrella warding off the wind and 
 rain from her face. It was vexatious, and amus- 
 ing. From her face ! who had faced Sharnpuashuh 
 storms ever since she could remember. It is very 
 odd to be taken care of on a sudden, when you are 
 accustomed, and perfectly able, to take care of your- 
 self. It is also agreeable. 
 
 " You had better take my arm, Miss Lois," said 
 her companion. " I could shield you better." 
 
 " Well," said Lois half laughing, " since you are 
 here, I may as well take the good of it " 
 
 And then Mr. Dillwyn had got things as he 
 wanted them. 
 
 " I ventured to assume, a little while ago, Miss 
 Lois, that duty was taking you out into this storm; 
 but I confess my curiosity to know what duty 
 could have the right to do it. If my curiosity is 
 indiscreet, you can rebuke it." 
 
 " It is not indiscreet," said Lois. " I have a sort 
 of a Bible class, in the upper part of the village, a 
 quarter of a mile beyond the church." 
 
 " I understood it was something of that kind, or 
 I should not have asked. But in such weather as 
 this, surely they would not expect you?" 
 
 " Yes, they would. At any rate, I am bound to 
 shew that I expect them." 
 
 "Do you expect them, to come out to-day?"
 
 464 NOBODY. 
 
 " Not all of them," Lois allowed. " But if there 
 would not be one, still I must be there." 
 
 "Why? if you will pardon me for asking." 
 
 " It is good they should know that I am regular 
 and to be depended on. And besides, they will be 
 sure to measure the depth of my interest in the 
 work by my desire to do it. And one can do so lit- 
 tle in this world at one's best, that one is bound to 
 do all one can." 
 
 " All one can," Mr. Dillwyn repeated. 
 
 "You cannot put it at a lower figure. I was 
 struck with a word in one of Mrs. Barclay's books 
 the Life and Correspondence of John Foster, 
 * Power, to its very last particle, is duty.' " 
 
 "But that would be to make life a terrible 
 responsibility. " 
 
 " Say noble, not terrible ! " said Lois. 
 
 "I confess it seems to me terrible also. I do 
 not see how you can get rid of the element of 
 teiribleness." 
 
 " Yes, if duty is neglected. Not if duty is 
 done." 
 
 " Who does his duty, at that rate ? " 
 
 " Some people try" said Lois. 
 
 "And that trying must make life a servitude." 
 
 "Service not servitude ! " exclaimed Lois again, 
 with the same wholesome, hearty ring in her voice 
 that her companion had noticed before. 
 
 " How do you draw the line between them ? " he 
 asked with an inward smile; and yet Mr. Dillwyn 
 was earnest enough too
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 465 
 
 "There is more than a line between them," said 
 Lois. "There is all the distance between freedom 
 and slavery." And the words recurred to her, " I 
 will walk at liberty, for I seek thy precepts"; but she 
 judged they would not be familiar to her compan- 
 ion nor meet appreciation from him, so she did not 
 speak them. "Service" she went on, "I think is 
 one of the noblest words in the world; but it can- 
 not be rendered servilely. It must be free, from 
 the heart." 
 
 " You make nice distinctions. Service, I suppose 
 you mean, of one's fellow creatures ? " 
 
 " No," said Lois, " I do not mean that. Service 
 must be given to God. It will work out upon one's 
 fellow creatures, of course." 
 
 "Nice distinctions again," said Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 "But very real ! And very essential." 
 
 " Is there not service true service that is giv- 
 en wholly to one's needy fellows of humanity? It 
 seems to me I have heard of such." 
 
 " There is a good deal of such service," said Lois, 
 " but it is not the true. It is partial, and arbitrary; 
 it ebbs and flows, and chooses; and is found con- 
 sorting with what is not service, but the contrary. 
 True service, given to God, and rising from the love 
 of him, goes where it is sent and does what it is 
 bidden, and has too high a spring ever to fail. 
 Real service gives all, and is ready for every 
 thing." 
 
 " How much do you mean, I wonder, by 'giving 
 all ' ? Do you use the words soberly ? "
 
 466 NOBODY. 
 
 " Quite soberly," said Lois laughing. 
 
 "Giving all what?" 
 
 "All one's power, according to Foster's judg* 
 ment of it." 
 
 "Do you know what that would end in?" 
 
 *' I think I do. How do you mean ? " 
 
 "Do you know how much a man or a woman 
 would give who gave all he had ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I do." 
 
 " What would be left for himself?" 
 . Lois did not answer at once ; but then she stopped 
 short in her walk and stood still, in the midst of 
 rain and wind, confronting her companion. And 
 her words were with an energy that she did not at 
 all mean to give them. 
 
 "There would be left for him all that the riches 
 and love of God could do for his child." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn gazed into the face that was turned 
 towards him, flushed, fired, earnest, full of a grand 
 consciousness, as of a most simple unconscious- 
 ness, and for the moment did not think of reply- 
 ing. Then Lois recollected herself, smiled at her- 
 self, and went on. 
 
 " I am very foolish to talk so much," she said. 
 "I do not know why I do. Somehow I think it 
 is your fault, Mr. Dillwyn. I am not in the habit, 
 I think, of holding forth so to people who ought 
 to know better than myself." 
 
 " I am sure you are aware that I was speaking 
 honestly, and that I do not know better ? " he said. 
 
 " I suppose I thought so," Lois answered. " But
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 467 
 
 that does not quite excuse me. Only I was sorry 
 for you, Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 "Thank you. Now may I go on? The conver- 
 sation can hardly be so interesting to you as it is 
 to me." 
 
 " I think I have said enough," said Lois, a little 
 shyly. 
 
 " No, not enough, for I want to know more. The 
 sentence you quoted from Foster, if it is true, is 
 overwhelming. If it is true, it leaves all the world 
 with terrible arrears of obligation." 
 
 " Yes " Lois answered half reluctantly, " duty 
 unfulfilled is terrible. But, not 'all the world,' Mr. 
 Dillwyn." 
 
 "You are an exception." 
 
 " I did not mean myself. I do not suppose I do 
 all I ought to do. I do try to do all I know. But 
 there are a great many beside me, who do better.' 
 
 " You agree then, that one is not bound by duties 
 unknown ? " 
 
 Lois hesitated. " You are making me talk again, 
 as if I were wise," she said. " What should hinder 
 any one from knowing his duty, Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 u Suppose a case of pure ignorance." 
 
 " Then let ignorance study." 
 
 " Study what ? " 
 
 "Mr. Dillwyn, you ought to ask somebody who 
 can answer you better." 
 
 "I do not know any such somebody." 
 
 " Haven't you a Christian among all your friends ?" 
 
 "I have not a friend in the world, of whom I
 
 468 NOBODY. 
 
 could ask suen a questiou with the least hope of 
 having it answered." 
 
 " Where is your minister ? " 
 
 "My minister? Clergyman, you mean? Miss 
 Lois, I have been a wanderer over the earth foi 
 years. I have not any ' minister.' " 
 
 Lois was silent again. They had been walking 
 fast ; as well as talking fast, spite of wind and 
 rain; the church was left behind some time ago, 
 and the more comely and elegant part of the vil- 
 lage settlement. 
 
 " We shall have to stop talking now," Lois said, 
 " for we are near my place." 
 
 " Which is your place ? " 
 
 "Do you see that old schoolhouse? a little fur- 
 ther on ? We have that for our meetings. Some 
 of the boys put it in order and make the fire for 
 me." 
 
 " You will let me come in ? " 
 
 "You?" said Lois. "Oh no! Nobody is there 
 but my class." 
 
 " You will let me be one of them to-day ? Seri- 
 ously, I am going to wait to see you home; you 
 will not let me wait in the rain ? " 
 
 " I shall bid you go home," said Lois laughing. 
 
 "I am not going to do that." 
 
 "Seriously, Mr. Dillwyn, I do not need the least 
 care." 
 
 " Perhaps. But I nust look at the matter from 
 my point of view." 
 
 What a troublesome man! thought Lois; but
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 469 
 
 then they were at the schoolhouse door, the wind 
 and rain came with such a wild burst that it seemed 
 the one thing to do to get under shelter ; and so 
 Mr. Dillwyn went in with her, and how to turn 
 him out Lois did not know. 
 
 It was a bare little place. The sanded floor gave 
 little help or seeming of comfort; the wooden chairs 
 and benches were old and hard; however, the small 
 stove did give out warmth enough to make the place 
 habitable, even to its furthest corners. Six peo- 
 ple were already there. Lois gave a rapid glance 
 at the situation. There was no time and it was no 
 company for a prolonged battle with the intruder. 
 
 "Mr. Dillwyn," she said softly, "will you take 
 a seat by the stove, as far from us as you can; 
 and make believe you have neither eyes nor ears ? 
 You must not be seen to have either by any use 
 you make of them. If you keep quite still, maybe 
 they will forget you are here. You can keep up 
 the fire for us." 
 
 She turned from him to greet her young friends, 
 and Mr. Dillwyn obeyed orders. He hung up his 
 wet hat and coat and sat down in the furthest 
 corner; placing himself so, however, that neither 
 eyes nor ears should be hindered in the exercise 
 of their vocation, while his attitude might have 
 suggested a fit of sleepiness, or a most indifferent 
 meditation on things far distant, or possibly rest 
 after severe exertion. Lois and her six scholars 
 took their places at the other end of the room, 
 which was too small to prevent every word they
 
 470 NOBODY. 
 
 spoke from being distinctly heard by the one idle 
 spectator. A spectator in truth Mr. Dillwyn de- 
 sired to be, not merely an auditor; so, as he had 
 been warned he must not be seen to look, he ar- 
 ranged himself in a manner to serve both purposes, 
 of seeing and not seeing. 
 
 The hour was not long to this one spectator, 
 although it extended itself to full an hour and a 
 half. He gave as close attention as ever when 
 a student in college he had given to lecture or 
 lesson. And yet, though he did this, Mr. Dilhvyii 
 was not, at least not at the time, thinking much 
 of the matter of the lesson. He was studying the 
 lecturer. And the study grew intense. It was not 
 flattering to perceive, as he soon did, that Lois had 
 entirely forgotten his presence. He saw it by the 
 free unconcern with which she did her work, as 
 well as in the absorbed interest she gave to it. 
 Not flattering, and it cast a little shadow upon 
 him, but it was convenient for his present purpose 
 of observation. So he watched, and listened. He 
 heard the sweet utterance and clear enunciation, 
 first of all; he heard them it is true wrnnever she 
 spoke; but now the utterance sounded sweeter than 
 usual, as if there were a vibration from some fuller 
 than usual mental harmony, and the voice was of 
 a silvery melody. It contrasted with the other 
 voices, which were more or less rough or grating 
 or nasal, too high pitched or low, and rough ca- 
 denced, as uncultured voices are apt to be. From 
 the voices, Mr. Dillwvn's attention was drawn to
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 471 
 
 what the voices said. And here he found, most 
 unexpectedly, a great deal to interest him. Those 
 rough voices spoke words of genuine intelligence; 
 they expressed earnest interest; and they shewed 
 the speakers to be acute, thoughtful, not unin- 
 formed, quick to catch what was presented to 
 them, often cunning to deal with it. Mr. Dillwyn 
 was in danger of smiling, more than once. And 
 Lois met them, if not with the skill of a practised 
 logician, with the quick wit of a woman s intuition 
 and a woman's loving- sympathy, armed with knowl- 
 edge and penetration and tact and gentleness and 
 wisdom. It was something delightful to hear her 
 soft accents answer them, with such hidden strength 
 under their softness; it was charming to see her 
 gentleness and patience, and eagerness too; for 
 Lois was talking with all her heart. Mr. Dil- 
 lwyn lost his wonder that her class came out in 
 the rain ; he only wished he could be one of them 
 and have the privilege too ! 
 
 It was impossible but that with all this mental 
 observation Mr. Dillwyn's eyes should also take 
 notice of the fair exterior before them. They 
 would not have been worthy to see it else. Lois 
 had laid off her bonnet in the hot little room; it 
 had left her hair a little loosened and disordered; 
 yet not with what deserved to be called disorder; 
 it was merely a softening and lifting of the rich, 
 full masses, adding to the grace of the contour, 
 not taking from it. Nothing could be plainer than 
 the girl's dress; all the more the observer's eye
 
 4V2 NOBODY. 
 
 noted the excellent lines of the figure and the 
 natural charm of every movement and attitude. 
 The charm that comes and always must come 
 from inward refinement and delicacy, when com- 
 bined with absence of consciousness; and which 
 can only be helped, not produced, by any perfec- 
 tion of the physical structure. Then the tints of 
 absolute health, and those low, musical, sensitive 
 tones, flowing on in such sweet modulations 
 
 What a woman was this ! Mr. 'Dillwyn could 
 see, too, the effect of Mrs. Barclay's work. He 
 was sure he could. The whole giving of that 
 Bible lesson betrayed the refinement of mental 
 training and culture ; even the management of the 
 voice lold of it. Here was not a fine machine, 
 sound and good, yet in need of regulating and 
 working and lubricating to get it in order; all that 
 had been done, and the smooth running told how 
 well. By degrees Mr. Dillwyn forgot the lesson 
 and the class and the schoolhouse, and remember- 
 ed but one thing any more; and that was Lois. 
 His head and heart grew full of her. He had been 
 in the grasp of a strong fancy before; a fancy 
 strong enough to make him spend money, and 
 spend time, for the possible attainment of its ob- 
 ject; now it was fancy no longer. He had made 
 up his mind, as a man makes it up once for all; 
 not to try to win Lois, but to have her. She, ho 
 saw, was as yet ungrazed by any corresponding 
 feeling towards him. That made no difference. 
 Philip Dillwyn had one object in life from this
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 473 
 
 time. He hardly saw or heard Lois' s leave-takings 
 with her class, but as she came up to him he 
 rose. 
 
 "I have kept you too long, Mr. Dillwyn; but I 
 could not help it; and really, you know, it was 
 your own fault." 
 
 "Not a minute too long," he assured her; and 
 he put on her cloak and handed her her bonnet, 
 with grave courtesy and a manner which Loia 
 would have said was absorbed, but for a certain 
 element in it which even then struck her. They 
 set out upon their homeward way, but the walk 
 home was not as the walk out had been. The rain 
 and the wind were unchanged; the wind indeed 
 had an added touch of waywardness as they more 
 nearly faced it, going this way; and the rain was 
 driven against them with greater fury. Lois was 
 fain to cling to her companion's a*m r and the um- 
 brella had to be handled with discretion. But the 
 storm had been violent enough before, and it was 
 no feature of that which made the difference. 
 Neither was it the fact that both parties were now 
 almost silent, whereas on the way out they had 
 talked incessantly; though it was a fact. Perhaps 
 Lois was tired with talking, seeing she had been 
 doing nothing else for two hours, but what ailed 
 Philip ? And what gave the walk its new charac- 
 ter? Lois did not know, though she felt it in 
 every fibre of her being. And Mr. Dillwyn did 
 not know, though the cause lay in him. He was 
 taking care of Lois; he had been taking care of
 
 174 NOBODY. 
 
 h or before; but now, unconsciously, he was doing 
 it as a man only does it for one woman in the 
 world. Hardly more careful of her, yet with that 
 indefinable something in the manner of it, which 
 Lois felt even in the putting on of her cloak in 
 the schoolhouse. It was something she had never 
 touched before in her life, and did not now know 
 what it meant; at least I should say her reason did 
 not know; yet nature answered to nature infallibly 
 and by some hidden intuition of recognition the 
 girl was subdued and dumb. This was nothing 
 like Tom Caruthers and anything she had received 
 from him. Tom had been flattering, demonstra- 
 tive, obsequious ; there was no flattery here, and no 
 demonstration, and nothing could be further from 
 obsequiousness. It was the delicate reverence which 
 a man gives to only one woman of all the world; 
 something that iflfast be felt and cannot be feigned; 
 the most subtle incense of worship one human spirit 
 can render to another; which the one renders and 
 the other receives without either being able to tell 
 how it is done. The more is the incense sweet, 
 penetrating, powerful. Lois went home silently, 
 through the rain and wind, and did not know why 
 a certain mist of happiness seemed to encompass 
 her. She was ignorant why the storm was so very 
 beneficent in its action; did not know why the 
 wind was so musical and the rain so refreshing; 
 could not guess why she was sorry to get home. 
 Yet the fact was before her as she stepped in. 
 " It has done you no harm ! " said Mr. Dillwyn
 
 UNDER AN UMBRELLA. 475 
 
 smiling, as he met Lois's eyes and saw her fresh, 
 flushed cheeks. " Are you wet ? " 
 
 "I think not at all." 
 
 "This must come off however," he went on, 
 proceeding to unfasten her cloak; "it has caught 
 more rain drops than you know." And Lois sub- 
 mitted, and meekly stood still and allowed the 
 cloak, very wet on one side, to be taken off her. 
 
 " Where is this to go ? there seems to be no 
 place to hang it here." 
 
 "01 will hang it up to dry in the kitchen, 
 thank you," said Lois, offering to take it. 
 
 "7 will hang it up to dry in the kitchen, if 
 you will shew me the way. You cannot handle 
 it." 
 
 Lois could have laughed, for did she not handle 
 everything? and did wet or dry make any differ- 
 ence to her ? However, she did not on this occa- 
 sion feel like contesting the matter; but with 
 unwonted docility preceded Mr. Dillwyn through 
 the sitting room, where were Mrs. Armadale and 
 Madge, to the kitchen beyond, where Charity was 
 just putting on the tea kettle.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 OPINIONS. 
 
 MR. DILLWYN rejoined Mrs. Barclay in her 
 parlour, but he was a less entertaining man 
 this evening than he had been during the former 
 part of his visit. Mrs. Barclay saw it, and smiled, 
 and sighed. Even at the tea-table, things were 
 not like last evening. Philip entered into no 
 discussions, made no special attempts to amuse 
 anybody, attended to his duties in the unconscious 
 way of one with whom they have become second 
 nature, and talked only so much as politeness 
 required. Mrs. Barclay looked at Lois, but could 
 tell nothing from the grave face there. Always 
 on Sunday evenings it had a very fair sweet 
 gravity. 
 
 The rest of the time, after tea, was spent in 
 making music. It was become a usual Sunday 
 evening entertainment. Mrs. Barclay played, and 
 she and the two girls sang. It was all sacred 
 music, of course, varied exceedingly however by 
 the various tastes of the family. Old hymn and 
 psalm tunes were what Mrs. Armadale liked; and 
 476
 
 OPINIONS. 477 
 
 those generally came first; then the girls had more 
 modern pieces, and with those Mrs. Barclay inter- 
 wove an anthem or a chant now and then. Madge 
 and Lois both had good voices and good natural 
 taste and feeling; and Mrs. Barclay's instructions 
 had been eagerly received. This evening Philip 
 joined the choir; and Charity declared it was 
 " better' n they could do in the Episcopal church." 
 
 " Do they have the best singing in the Episcopal 
 church ? " asked Philip absently. 
 
 " Well, they set up to ; and you see they give 
 more time to it. Our folks won't practise." 
 
 " I don't care how folks' voices sound, if their 
 hearts are in it," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "But you may notice, voices sound better if 
 hearts are in it," said Dillwyn. "That made a 
 large part of the beauty of our concert this 
 evening." 
 
 " Was your'n in it ? " asked Mrs. Armadale 
 abruptly. 
 
 " My heart ? In the words ? I am afraid I 
 must own it was not, in the way you mean, 
 madam. If I must answer truth." 
 
 " Don't you always speak truth ? " 
 
 " I believe I may say, that is my habit, 1 * Philip 
 answered smiling. 
 
 "Then, do you think you ought to sing sech 
 words ? if you don't mean 'em ? " 
 
 The question looks abrupt, on paper. It did 
 not sound equally so. Something of earnest wist- 
 fulness there was in the old lady's look and manner,
 
 478 NOBODY. 
 
 a touch of solemnity in her voice, which made the 
 gentleman forgive her on the spot. He sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 " Would you bid me not join in singing such 
 words, then ? " 
 
 44 It's not my place to bid or forbid. But you can 
 judge for yourself. Do you set much valley on 
 professions that mean nothing?" 
 
 " I made no professions." 
 
 44 Aint it professin', when you say what the hymns 
 say?" 
 
 " If you will forgive me I did not say it," re- 
 sponded Philip. 
 
 44 Aint singin' savin'?" 
 
 " They are generally looked upon as essentially 
 different. People are never held responsible for 
 the things they sing, out of church," added Philip 
 smiling. " Is it otherwise with church singing?" 
 
 44 What's church singin' good for, then?" 
 
 " I thought it was to put the minds of the wor- 
 shippers in a right state ; to sober and harmonize 
 them." 
 
 44 1 thought, it was to tell the Lord how we felt," 
 said the old lady. 
 
 u That is a new view of it, certainly." 
 
 41 / thought, the words was to tell one how 
 we had ought to feel," said Charity. 44 There 
 wouldn't more'n one in a dozen sing, mother, if 
 you had your way; and then we should have nice 
 music ! " 
 
 44 1 think it would be nice music," said the old
 
 OPINIONS. 479 
 
 lady, with a kind of sober tremble in her voice, 
 which somehow touched Philip. The ring of truth 
 was there at any rate. 
 
 " Could the world be managed," he said with 
 very gentle deference ; " could the world be man- 
 aged on such principles of truth and purity ? Must 
 we not take people as we find them ? " 
 
 "Those are the Lord's principles," said Mrs. 
 Armadale. 
 
 "Yes, but you know how the world is.. Must 
 we not, a little, as I said, take people as we find 
 them?" 
 
 "The Lord won't do that," said the old lady. 
 " He will either make them better, or he will cast 
 them away." 
 
 " But we ? We must deal with things as they are/' 
 
 " How are you goin' to deal with 'em ? " 
 
 "In charity and kindness; having patience with 
 what is wrong, and believing that the good God 
 will have more patience yet." 
 
 " You had better believe what he tells you," the 
 old lady answered, somewhat sternly. 
 
 " But grandmother," Lois put in here, " He does 
 have patience." 
 
 " With whom, child ? " 
 
 Lois did not answer; she only quoted softly the 
 words 
 
 " Plenteous in mercy, long-suffering, abundant 
 in goodness and truth "- 
 
 " Ay, child ; but you know what happens to the 
 houses buili on the sand."
 
 4bO NOBODY. 
 
 The party broke up here, Mrs. Barclay bidding 
 good night and leaving the dining room, whither 
 they had all gone to eat apples. As Philip parted 
 from Lois he remarked, 
 
 "I did not understand the allusion in Mrs. Arma- 
 dale's last words." 
 
 Lois's look fascinated him. It was just a mo- 
 ment's look, pausing before turning away; swift 
 with eagerness and intent with some hidden feel- 
 ing which he hardly comprehended. She only said, 
 
 "Look in the end of the seventh chapter of 
 Matthew." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Barclay, when the door was 
 closed, "what do you think of our progress?" 
 
 "Progress?" repeated Philip vacantly. " I beg 
 your pardon ! " 
 
 " In music, man ! " said Mrs. Barclay laughing. 
 
 " ! Admirable. Have you a Bible here ? " 
 
 " A Bible ? " Mrs. Barclay echoed. " Yes there 
 is a Bible in every room, I believe. Yonder, on 
 that table. Why? what do you want of one now?" 
 
 " I have had a sermon preached to me, and I 
 want to find the text." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay asked no further, but she watched 
 him, as with the book in his hand he sat down 
 before the fire and studied the open page. Studied 
 with grave thoughtfulness, drawing his brows a 
 little, and pondering with eyes fixed on the words 
 for some length of time. Then he bade her good 
 night with a smile, and went away. 
 
 He went away in good earnest next day; but
 
 OPINIONS. 4S1 
 
 as a subject of conversation in the village his 
 visit lasted a good while. That same evening 
 Mrs. Marx came to make a call, just before 
 supper. 
 
 " How much pork are you goin' to want this 
 year, mother?" she began, with the business of 
 one who had been stirring her energies with a walk 
 in a cool wind. 
 
 " I suppose, about as usual," said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 "I forget how much that is; I can't keep it in 
 my head from one year to another. Besides, I 
 didn't know but you'd want an extra quantity, 
 if your family was goin' to be larger." 
 
 " It is not going to be larger, as I know." 
 
 " If my pork aint, I shall come short home. It 
 beats me ! I've fed 'em just the same as usual, 
 and the corn's every bit as good as usual, never 
 better; good, big, fat, yellow ears, that had ought 
 to make a porker's heart dance for joy ; and I should 
 think they were suiferin' from continual low ness o' 
 spirits, to judge by the way they dont get fat. 
 They're growing real long-legged and slab-sided 
 just the way I hate to see pigs look. I don' 
 know what's the matter with 'em." 
 
 " Where do you keep 'em ? " 
 
 " Under the barn just where they always be. 
 Well, you've had a visiter ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay has." 
 
 "I understood 'twas her company; but you saw 
 him." 
 
 "We saw him as much as she did," put in Charity
 
 4:82 NOBODY. 
 
 "What's he like?" 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 "Is he one of your high-flyers?" 
 
 "I don't know what you call high-flyers, aunt 
 Anne," said Madge. " He was a gentleman." 
 
 "What do you mean by that? I saw some 'gen- 
 tlemen' last summer at Appledore and I don't want 
 to see no more. Was he that kind ? " 
 
 " I wasn't there," said Madge, " and can't tell. I 
 should have no objection to see a good many of 
 them, if he is." 
 
 " I heard he went to Sunday School with Lois, 
 through the rain." 
 
 " How did you know ? " said Lois. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I know?" 
 
 " I thought nobody was out but me." 
 
 " Do you think folks will see an umbrella walkin' 
 up street, in the rain, and not look to see if there's 
 somebody under it? " 
 
 " / shouldn't," said Lois. " When should an 
 umbrella be out walking, but in the rain?" 
 
 "Well, go along. What sort of a man is he? 
 and what brings him to Shampuashuh?" 
 
 "He came to see Mrs. Barclay," said Madge. 
 
 " He's a sort of man you are williu' to take 
 trouble for," said Charity. " Real nice, and con 
 siderate; and to hear him talk, it is as good as a 
 book; and he's awfully polite. You should have 
 seen him marching in here with Lois's wet cloak, 
 out to the kitchen with it, and hangin' it up. So 
 to pay, 1 turned round and hung up his'n. One
 
 OPINIONS. 483 
 
 good turn deserves another, I told him. But at 
 first, I declare, I thought I couldn't keep from 
 laughin'." 
 
 Mrs. Marx laughed a little here. " I know the 
 sort," she said. "Wears kid gloves always, and 
 a little line of hair over his upper lip, and is 
 lazy like. I would lose all my patience trhave 
 one o' them round for long, smokiri' a cigar every 
 other thing and poisonin' all the air for half a 
 mile." 
 
 " I think he is sort o' lazy," said Charity. 
 
 " He don't smoke," said Lois. 
 
 "Yes he does," said Madge. "I found an end 
 of cigar just down by the front steps, when I was 
 sweeping." 
 
 " I don't think he's a lazy man, either," said 
 Lois. "That slow easy way does not mean lazi- 
 ness." 
 
 " What does it mean ? " inquired Mrs. Marx 
 sharply. 
 
 "It is nothing to us, what it means," said Mrs. 
 Armadale, speaking for the first time. " We have 
 no concern with this man. He came to see Mrs. 
 Barclay, his friend, and I suppose he'll never come 
 again." 
 
 "Why shouldn't he come again, mother?" said 
 Charity. " If she's his friend, he might want to 
 see her more than once, seems to me. And what's 
 more, he is coming again. I heard him askin 
 her if he might; and then Mrs. Barclay asked me 
 if it would be convenient, and I said it would, of
 
 484 NOBODY. 
 
 course. He said ne would be comin' back from 
 Boston in a few weeks, and he would like to stop 
 again as he went by. And do you know / think 
 she coloured. It was only a little, but she aint a 
 woman to blush much; and I believe she knows 
 why he wants to come, as well as he does." 
 
 " Nonsense, Charity ! " said Madge incredulously. 
 
 "Then half the world are busy with nonsense, 
 that's, all I have to say; and I'm glad for my part 
 I've somethiii' better to do." 
 
 " Do you say he's comin' again ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Armadale. 
 
 "He says so, mother 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Why, to visit his friend Mrs. Barclay, 
 course." 
 
 "She is our friend," said the old lady; "and her 
 friends must be entertained; but he is not our 
 friend, children. We aint of his kind, and he aint 
 of our'n." 
 
 " What's the matter ? Aint he good ? " asked 
 Mrs. Marx. 
 
 " He's very good ! " said Madge. 
 
 "Not in grandmother's way," said Lois softly. 
 
 "Mother," said Mrs. Marx, "you can't have 
 everybody cut out on your pattern." 
 
 Mrs. Armadale made no answer. 
 
 "And there aint enough o' your pattern to keep 
 one from bein' lonesome, if we're to have nothin 
 to do with the rest." 
 
 "Better so," said the old lady. "I don't want
 
 OPINIONS. 485 
 
 no company for rny chil'en that won't help 'em on 
 the road to heaven. They'll have company enough 
 when they get there." 
 
 " And how are you goin' to be the salt o' the 
 earth, then, if you won't touch nothin' ? " 
 
 "How, if the salt loses its saltness, daughter?" 
 
 " Well mother, it always puzzles me, that there's 
 so much to be said on both sides of things ! I'll 
 go home and think about it. Then he aint one 
 o' your Appledore friends, Lois?" 
 
 " Not one of my friends at all, aunt Anne." 
 
 So the talk ended. There was a little private 
 extension of it that evening, when Lois and Madge 
 went up to bed. 
 
 " It's a pity grandma is so sharp about things," 
 the latter remarked to her sister. 
 
 ' Things ' ? " said Lois. " What things ? " 
 
 "Well people. Don't you like that Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "So do I. And she don't want us to have any 
 thing to do with him." 
 
 " But she is right," said Lois. " He is not a 
 Christian." 
 
 " But one can't live only with Christians in this 
 world. And Lois, I'll tell you what I think; he is 
 a great deal pleasanter than a good many Chris- 
 tians I know." 
 
 " He is good company," said Lois. " He has seen 
 a great deal and read a great deal, and he knows 
 how to talk. That makes him pleasant."
 
 486 NOBODY. 
 
 "Well, he's a great deal more improving to be 
 with, than anybody I know in Shampuashuh." 
 
 " In one way." 
 
 " Why shouldn't one have the pleasure then, and 
 the good ? if he isn't a Christian." 
 
 " The pleasanter he is, I suppose the more danger, 
 grandmother would think." 
 
 " Danger of what ? " 
 
 " You know, Madge, it is not my say-so, nor even 
 grandmother's. You know, Christians are not of 
 the world." 
 
 " But they must see the world." 
 
 " If we were to see much of that sort of person, 
 we might get to wishing to see them always." 
 
 " By ' that sort of person ' I suppose you mean 
 Mr. Dillwyn ? Well, I have got so far as that al- 
 ready. I wish I could see such people always." 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 " Why? You ought to be glad, at my good taste." 
 
 " I am sorry, because you are wishing for what 
 you cannot have." 
 
 " How do you know that? You cannot tell what 
 may happen." 
 
 " Madge, a man like Mr. Dillwyn would never 
 think of a girl like you or me." 
 
 " I am not wanting him to think of me," said 
 Madge rather hotly. "But Lois, if you come to 
 that, I think I and you are fit for anybody." 
 
 "Yes," said Lois quietly. "I think so too. But 
 they do not take the same view. And if they did, 
 Madge, we could not think of them."
 
 OPINIONS. 487 
 
 " Why not ? if they did. T do i/ot hold quite 
 such extreme rules as you and grandmother do." 
 "And the Bible." 
 
 " Other people do not think the Bible is so strict." 
 "You know what the words are, Madge." 
 " I don't know what the words mean." 
 Lois was brushing out the thick masses of her 
 beautiful hair, which floated about over her iti 
 waves of golden brown; and Madge had been 
 thinking, privately, that if anybody could have 
 just that view of Lois his scruples if he had any 
 would certainly give way. Xow, at her sister's 
 last words however, Lois laid down her brush ; and 
 coming up laid hold of Madge by the shoulders and 
 gave her a gentle shaking. It ended in something 
 of a romp, but Lois declared Madge should never 
 say such a thing again.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 
 
 LOIS was inclined now to think it might be quite 
 as well if something hindered Mr. Dillwyn's 
 second visit. She did not wonder at Madge's evi- 
 dent fascination ; she had felt the same herself, long 
 ago, and in connection with other people ; the charm 
 of good breeding and gracious manners and the hab- 
 it of the world, even apart from knowledge and cul- 
 tivation and the art of conversation. Yes, M*. Dil- 
 Iwyn was a good specimen of this sort of attraction ; 
 and for a moment Lois's imagination recalled that 
 day's two walks in the rain ; then she shook off the 
 impression. Two poor Shampuashuh girls were not 
 likely to have much to do with that sort of society, 
 and it was best they should not. It would be just 
 as well, if Mr. Dillwyn was hindered from coming 
 again. 
 
 But he came. A month had passed; it was the 
 beginning of December when he knocked next at 
 the door, and cold and grey and cloudy and windy 
 as it is December's character in certain moods to 
 be. The reception he got was hearty in propor 
 
 '4881
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 489 
 
 tion ; fires were larger, the table even more hospit- 
 ably spread ; Mrs. Barclay even more cordial, and 
 the family atmosphere not less genial. Neverthe- 
 less the visit, for Mr. Dillwyn's special ends, was 
 hardly satisfactory. He could get no private speech 
 with Lois. She was always "busy"; and at meal 
 times it was obviously impossible and would have 
 been impolitic to pay any particular attention to her. 
 Philip did not attempt it. He talked rather to ev- 
 ery one else; made himself delightful company; but 
 groaned in secret. 
 
 " Cannot you make some excuse for getting her 
 in here ? " he asked Mrs. Barclay at evening. 
 
 " Not without her sister." 
 
 " With her sister, then." 
 
 "They are very busy just now preparing some- 
 thing they call ' apple butter.' It's unlucky, Philip. 
 I am very sorry. I always told you your way looked 
 to me intricate." 
 
 Fortune favoured him however in an unexpected 
 way. After a day passed in much inward impa- 
 tience, for he had not got a word with Lois, and he 
 had no excuse for prolonging his stay beyond the 
 next day; as they sat at supper, the door opened 
 and in came two ladies. Mr. Dillwyn was formally 
 presented to one of them as to "my aunt, Mrs. Marx"; 
 the other was named as " Mrs. Seelye." The latter 
 was a neat, brisk little body, with a capable air 
 and a mien of business; all whose words came out 
 as if they had been nicely picked and squared and 
 sorted and packed, and served in order.
 
 490 NOBODY. 
 
 "Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Armadale" she be- 
 gan, in a chirruping little voice. Indeed her whole 
 air was that of a notable little hen looking after 
 her chickens. Charity assured her it was no 
 interruption. 
 
 " Mrs. Seelye and I had our tea hours ago," said 
 Mrs. Marx. " I had muffins for her, and we eat 
 all we could then. We don't want no more now. 
 We're on business." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Seelye. "Mrs. Marx and I, 
 we've got to see everybody, pretty much; and 
 there aint much time to do it in ; so you see we 
 can't choose, and we just come here to see what 
 you'll do for us." 
 
 "What do you want us to do for you, Mrs. 
 Seelye ? " Lois asked. 
 
 "Well, I don't know; only all you can. We 
 want your counsel, and then your help. Mr. Seelye, 
 he said, Go to the Lothrop girls first. I didn't 
 come first, 'cause there was somebody else on my 
 way here; but this is our fourth call, aint it, Mrs. 
 Marx?" 
 
 " I thought I'd never get you away from No. 3," 
 was the answer. 
 
 "They were very much interested, and I wanted 
 to make them all understand it was important that 
 they should all understand " 
 
 "And there are different ways of understandin'," 
 added Mrs. Marx; "and there are a good many of 
 em; the Hicks's, I mean; and so, when we thought 
 we'd got it all right with one, we found somebody
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 491 
 
 else was in a fog; and then he had to be fetched 
 out." 
 
 " But we are all in a fog," said Madge laughing. 
 " What are yon coming to ? and what are we to 
 un dei-stand ? " 
 
 " We have a little plan," said Mrs. Seelye. 
 
 " It'll be a big one, before we get through with 
 it," added her coadjutor. "Nobody'll be frightened 
 here if you call it a big one to start with, Mrs. 
 Seelye. I like to look things in the face." 
 
 " So do we," said Mrs. Armadale, with a kind 
 of grim humour, " if you will give us a chance." 
 
 " Well it's about the children," said Mrs. Seelye. 
 
 " Christmas " added Mrs. Marx. 
 
 " Be quiet, Anne," said her mother. " Go on, 
 Mrs. Seelye. Whose children ? " 
 
 " I might say, they are all Mr. Seelye's children," 
 said the little lady laughing; "and so they are in 
 a way, as they are all belonging to his church. 
 He feels he is responsible for the care of 'em, 
 and he dorit want to lose 'em. And that's what 
 it's all about, and how the plan came up." 
 
 "How's he goin' to lose 'em?" Mrs. Armadale 
 asked, beginning now to knit again. 
 
 "Well, you see the other church is makin' great 
 efforts; and they're goin' to have a tree." 
 
 "What sort of a tree? and what do they want a 
 tree for?" 
 
 " Why a fir tree ! "and, " Why a Christmas tree !" 
 cried the two ladies who advocated the "plan," 
 both in a breath.
 
 492 NOBODY. 
 
 " Mother don't know about that," Mrs. Marx went 
 on. " It's a new fashion, mother, come up since 
 your day. They have a green tree, planted in a 
 tub, and hung with all sorts of things to make it 
 look pretty ; little candles especially ; and at night 
 they light it up; and the children are tickled to 
 death with it." 
 
 "In doors?" 
 
 "Why of course in doors. Couldn't be out of 
 doors, in the snow." 
 
 " I didn't know," said the old lady; "I don't un- 
 derstand the new fashions. I should think they 
 would burn up the house, if it's in doors." 
 
 " no, no danger," explained Mrs. Seelye. "They 
 make them wonderfully pretty, with the branches 
 all hung full with glass balls, and candles, and rib- 
 bands, and gilt toys, and papers of sugarplums 
 cornucopia, you know ; and dolls and tops and jacks 
 and trumpets and whips, and everything you can 
 think of, till it is as full as it can be, and he 
 branches hang down with the weight; and it 
 looks like a fairy tree; and then the heavy pres- 
 ents lie at the foot round about and cover the 
 tub." 
 
 " I should think the children would be delighted," 
 said Madge. 
 
 " I don't believe it's as much fun as Santa Glaus 
 and the stocking," said Lois. 
 
 "No, nor I," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 "But we have nothing to do with the children's 
 stockings," said Mrs. Seelye. "They may hang up
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 493 
 
 as many as they like. That s at home. This is in 
 the church." 
 
 " 0, in the church ! I thought you said it was 
 in the house in people's houses," said Charity. 
 
 " So it is; but this tree is to be in the church." 
 
 " What tree ? " 
 
 " La ! how stupid you are, Charity," exclaimed 
 her aunt. " Didn't Mrs. Seelye tell you ? the tree 
 the other church are gettin' up." 
 
 " Oh " said Charity. " Well, you can't hinder 
 em,- as I see." 
 
 " Don't want to hinder 'em ? What should we 
 hinder 'em for? But we don't want 'em to get all 
 our chil'en away; that's what we're lookin' at." 
 
 "Do you think they'd go? " 
 
 " Mr. Seelye's afraid it'll thin off the school dread- 
 ful," said Mr. Seelye's helpmate. 
 
 "They're safe to go," added Mrs. Marx. "Ask 
 children to step in and see fairyland, and why 
 shouldn't they go? I'd go if I was they. All the 
 rest of the year it aint fairyland in Shampuashuh. 
 I'd go fast enough." 
 
 " Then I don't see what you are goin' to do about 
 it," said Charity, " but to sit down and count your 
 chickens that are left." 
 
 " That's what we came to tell you," said the min- 
 ister's wife. 
 
 "Well, tell," said Charity. "You haven't told 
 yet, only what the other church is going to do." 
 
 " Well, we thought the only way was for us to 
 do somethin' too."
 
 494 NOBODY. 
 
 " Only not another tree," said Lois. " Not that, 
 for pity's sake." 
 
 " Why not?" asked the little minister's wife, with 
 an air of being somewhat taken aback. " Why 
 haven't we as good a right to have a tree as they 
 have?" 
 
 "Right, if you like," said Lois; "but right isn't 
 all." 
 
 " Go on, and let's hear your wisdom, Lois," said 
 her aunt. " I s'pose you'll say first, we can't do it." 
 
 "We can do it, perhaps," said Lois; " but aunt 
 Anne, it would make bad feeling." 
 
 "That's not our lookout," rejoined Mrs. Marx. 
 "We haven't any bad feeling." 
 
 "No, not in the least," added Mrs. Seelye. "We 
 only want to give our children as good a time as 
 the others have. That's right." 
 
 " ' Let nothing be done through strife or vain- 
 glory' " Mrs. Armadale's voice was here heard 
 to say. 
 
 "Yes, I know, mother, you have old-fashioned 
 ideas," said Mrs. Marx; "but the world aint as it 
 used to be when you was a girl. Now everybody's 
 puttin' steam on ; and churches and Sunday schools 
 as well as all the rest. We have organs and choirs 
 and concerts and celebrations and fairs and festi- 
 vals; and if we don't go with the crowd, they'll 
 leave us behind, you see." 
 
 "I don't believe in it all!" said Mrs. Armadale. 
 
 " Well mother, we've got to take the world as we 
 find it. Now the children all through the village
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 495 
 
 are all agog with the story of what the yellow 
 church is goin' to do ; and if the white church don't 
 do somethin', they'll all run t'other way that you 
 may depend on. Children are children." 
 
 " I sometimes think, the grown folks are children,' 
 said the old lady. 
 
 " Well, we ought to be children," said Mrs. Seelye; 
 "I am sure we all know that. But Mr. Seelye 
 thought this was the only thing we could do." 
 
 "There comes in the second difficulty, Mrs. 
 Seelye," said Lois. " We cannot do it." 
 
 " I don't see why we cannot. We've as good a 
 place for it, quite." 
 
 " I mean, we cannot do it satisfactorily. It will 
 not be the same thing. We cannot raise the money. 
 Don't it take a good deal ? " 
 
 " Well, it takes considerable. But I think, if we 
 all try, we can scare it up somehow. " 
 
 Lois shook her head. "The other church is 
 richer than we are," she said. 
 
 " That's a fact," said Charity. 
 
 Mrs. Seelye hesitated. " I don't know," she said, 
 "they have one or two rich men. Mr. Georges " 
 
 "0 and Mr. Flare," cried Madge, "and Buck, and 
 Setterdown ; arid the Kopers and the Magnuses." 
 
 " Yes " said Mrs. Seelye ; " but we have more 
 people, and there's none of 'em to call poor. If we 
 get 'em interested and those we have spoken to 
 are very much taken with the plan; very much; I 
 think it would be a great disappointment now if 
 we were to stop ; and the children have, got talk-
 
 496 NOBODY. 
 
 ing about it. I think we can do it ; and it would 
 be a very good thing for the whole church, to get 
 'em interested " 
 
 "You can always get people interested in play," 
 said Mrs. Armadale. " What you want, is to get 
 'em interested in work." 
 
 "There'll be a good deal of work about this, 
 before it's over," said Mrs. Seelye with a pleased 
 chuckle. "And I think, when they get their 
 pride up, the money will be coming." 
 
 Mrs. Marx made a grimace, but said nothing. 
 
 " ' When pride cometh, than cometh shame ' " 
 said Mrs. Armadale quietly. 
 
 "0 yes, some sorts of pride," said the little min- 
 ister's wife briskly; "but I mean a proper sort. 
 We don't want to let our church go down, and we 
 don't want to have our Sunday school thinned 
 out; and I can tell you, where the children go, 
 there the fathers and mothers will be going, next 
 thing." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? " said Lois. " We 
 have not fairly heard yet." 
 
 44 Well, we thought we'd have some sort of a 
 celebration, and give the school a jolly time some- 
 how. We'd dress up the church handsomely, with 
 evergreens; and have it well lighted; and then, 
 we would have a Christmas tree if we could. Or, 
 if we couldn't, then we'd have a real good hot sup- 
 per, and give the children presents. But I'm 
 afraid, if we don't have a tree, they'll all run off 
 to the other church; and T think they're going al
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 497 
 
 ready, so as to get asked. Mr. Seelye said the 
 attendance was real thin last Sabbath." 
 
 There followed an animated discussion of the 
 whole subject, with every point brought up again, 
 and again and again. The talkers were for the 
 most part Charity and Madge, with the two ladies 
 who had come in; Mrs. Armadale rarely throwing 
 in a word, which always seemed to have a disturb- 
 ing power; and things were taken up and gone 
 over anew to get rid of the disturbance. Lois sat 
 silent and played with her spoon. Mrs. Barclay 
 and Philip listened with grave amusement. 
 
 "Well, I can't sit here all night," said Charity 
 at last, rising from behind her tea-board. " Madge 
 and Lois, -just jump up and put away the things, 
 won't you ; and hand me up the knives and plates. 
 Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Barclay. If other folks 
 in the village are as busy as I am, you'll come 
 short home for your Christmas work, Mrs. Seelye." 
 
 " It's the busy people always that help," said the 
 little lady propitiatingly. 
 
 "That's a fact; but I don't see no end o' this to 
 take hold of. You haint got the money; and if 
 you had it, you don't know what you want; and 
 if you did know, it aint in Shampuashuh; and I 
 don't see who is to go to New York, or New 
 Haven, shopping for you. And if you had it, 
 who knows how to fix a Christmas tree? Not a 
 soul in our church." 
 
 Mrs. Barclay and her guest withdrew at this 
 point of the discussion. But later, when the vis-
 
 498 NOBODY. 
 
 iters were gone, she opened the door of her room 
 and said, 
 
 " Madge and Lois, can you come in here for a 
 few minutes ? It is business." . 
 
 The two girls came in, Madge a little eagerly; 
 Lois, Mrs. Barclay fancied, with a manner of some 
 reserve. 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn has something to suggest," she 
 began, "about this plan we have heard talked 
 over; that is, if you care about it's being carried 
 into execution." 
 
 " I care, of course," said Madge. " If it is to be 
 done, I think it will be great fun." 
 
 " If it is to be done," Lois repeated. " Grand- 
 mother does not approve of it; and I always think, 
 what she does not like, I must not like." 
 
 " Always ? " asked Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 " I try to have it always. Grandmother thinks 
 that the way the best way to keep a Sunday 
 school together, is to make the lessons interesting." 
 
 " I am sure she is right ! " said Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 "But to the point," said Mrs. Barclay. "Lois, 
 they will do this thing, I can see. The question 
 now is, do you care whether it is done ill or well?" 
 
 "Certainly! If it is done, I should wish it to 
 Ue as well done as possible. Failure is more than 
 failure." 
 
 " How about ways and means ? " 
 
 " Money ? if the people all set their hearts 
 on it, they could do it well enough. But they are 
 slow to take hold of anything out -of the commou
 
 Two SUNDAY bcnooLs. 499 
 
 run they are accustomed to. The wheels go in 
 ruts at Sharapuashuh." 
 
 "Shampuashuh is not the only place," said Philip. 
 "Then will you let an outsider help?" 
 
 " Help ? We would be very glad of help," said 
 Madge; but Lois remarked, "I think the church 
 ought to do it themselves, if they want to do it." 
 
 " Well, hear my plan," said Mr. Dillwyn. " I 
 think you objected to two rival trees ? " 
 
 "I object to rival any things," said Lois; "in 
 church matters especially." 
 
 "Then I propose that no tree be set up, but 
 instead that you let Santa Glaus come in with 
 his sledge." 
 
 " Santa Glaus ! " cried Lois. " Who would be 
 Santa Glaus?" 
 
 "An old man in a white mantle, his head and 
 beard covered with snow and fringed with icicles; 
 his dress of fur; his sledge a large one and well 
 heaped up with things to delight the children. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 Madge's colour rose and Lois's eye took a sparkle; 
 both were silent. Then Madge spoke. 
 
 " I don't see how that plan could be carried out, 
 any more than the other. It is a great deal bet- 
 ter, it is magnificent; but it is a great deal too 
 magnificent for Shampuashuh." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Nobody here knows how to do it." 
 
 " I know how." 
 
 " You ! but, that would be too much "
 
 500 NOBODY. 
 
 "All you have to do is to get the other things 
 ready, and let it be known that at the proper time 
 Santa Glaus will appear; with a well-furnished sled. 
 Sharp on time." 
 
 " Well-furnished ! but there again I don't be- 
 lieve we can raise money enough for that." 
 
 " How much money ? " asked Dillwyn with an 
 amused smile." 
 
 "01 can't tell I suppose a hundred dollars at 
 least." 
 
 " I have as much as that lying useless it may 
 just as well do some good. It never was heard 
 that anybody but Santa Glaus furnished his own 
 sled. If you will allow me, I will take care of 
 that." 
 
 " How splendid ! " cried Madge. " But it is too 
 much; it wouldn't be right for us to let you do 
 all that for a church that is nothing to you." 
 
 " On the -contrary, you ought to encourage me 
 in my first endeavours to make myself of some 
 use in the world. Miss Madge, I have never, so 
 far, done a bit of good in my life." 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn ! I cannot believe that. Peo- 
 ple do not grow useful so all of a sudden, without 
 practice," said Madge, hitting a great general truth. 
 
 " It is a fact, however;" said he, half lightly, and 
 yet evidently meaning what he said. " I have lived 
 thirty-two years in the world nearly thirty- three 
 without making my life of the least use to anybody 
 BO far as I know. Do you wonder that I seize a 
 chance ? "
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 501 
 
 Lois!s eyes were suddenly lifted, and then as 
 suddenly lowered; she did not speak. 
 
 " I can read that," he said laughingly, for his eyes 
 had caught the glance. "You mean, if I am so 
 eager for chances, I might make them ! Miss Lois, 
 I do not know how." 
 
 "Come, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you are 
 making your character unnecessarily bad. I know 
 you better than that. Think what you have done 
 for me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he. " Think what 
 you have done for me. That score cannot be 
 reckoned to my favour. Have no scruples, Miss 
 Madge, about employing me. Though I believe 
 Miss Lois thinks the good of this undertaking a 
 doubtful one. How many children does your school 
 number ? " 
 
 "All together, and they would be sure for 
 once to be all together! there are a hundred 
 and fifty." 
 
 "Have you the names?" 
 
 "0 certainly." 
 
 " And ages proximately ? " 
 
 " Yes, that too." 
 
 "And you know something, I suppose, about 
 many of them; something about their families 
 and conditions?" 
 
 " About cdl of them," said Madge. " Yes, indeed 
 we do." 
 
 "Till Mrs. Barclay came, you must understand," 
 put in Lois here, " we had nothing, or not much,
 
 502 NOBODY. 
 
 to study besides Shampuashuh ; BO we studied 
 that." 
 
 "And since Mrs. Barclay came? " asked Philip. 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay has been opening one door after 
 another of knowledge, and we have been peeping 
 in." 
 
 "And what special door offers most attraction 
 to your view, of them all ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I think, perhaps, for me, geol- 
 ogy and mineralogy ; but almost every one helps in 
 the study of the Bible." 
 
 " Oh, do they ! " said Dillwyn somewhat dryly. 
 
 "I like music best," said Madge. 
 
 " But that is not a door into knowledge," objected 
 Lois. 
 
 "I meant, of all the doors Mrs. Barclay has 
 opened to us." 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay is a favoured person." 
 
 " It is we that are favoured," said Madge. " Our 
 life is a different thing since she came. We 
 hope she will never go away." Then Madge col- 
 oured, with some sudden thought, and she went back 
 to the former subject. " Why do you ask about the 
 children's ages and all that, Mr. Dillwyn ? " 
 
 " I was thinking W hen a thing is to be done, I 
 like to do it well. It occurred to me, that as Santa 
 Glaus must have something on his sledge for each 
 one, it might be good, if possible, to secure some 
 adaptation or fitness in the gift. Those who would 
 like books should have books, and the right books; 
 and playthings had better not go astray, if we can
 
 Two SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 503 
 
 help it; and perhaps the poorer children wonld be 
 better for articles of clothing. I am only throwing 
 out hints." 
 
 " Capital hints ! " said Lois. "You mean, if we 
 can tell what would be good for each one I think 
 we can, pretty nearly. But there are few poor peo- 
 ple in Shampuashuh, Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 " Shampuashuh is a happy place." 
 
 " This plan will give you an immensity of work, 
 Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 " I have scruples. It is not fair to let you do it. 
 What is Shampuashuh to you ? " 
 
 " It might be difficult to make that computa- 
 tion," said Mr. Dillwyn dryly. " Have no scruples, 
 Miss Lois. As I told you, I have nothing better 
 to do with myself. If you can make me useful, it 
 will be a rare chance." 
 
 " But there are plenty of other things to do, Mr. 
 Dillwyn," said Lois. 
 
 He gave her only a glance and smile by way of 
 answer, and plunged immediately into the business 
 question with Madge. Lois sat by, silent and 
 wondering, till all was settled that could be settled 
 that evening and she and Madge went back to the 
 other room.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 
 
 HURRAH! " cried Madge, but softly "Now it 
 will go ! Mother ! what do you think ? 
 Guess, Charity. Mr. Dillwyn is going to take our 
 Sunday school celebration on himself; he's going 
 to do it; and we're to have, not a stupid Christmas 
 tree, but Santa Glaus and his sled; and he'll be 
 Santa Claus! Won't it be fun?" 
 
 " Who'll be Santa Claus ? " said Charity, looking 
 stupefied. 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn. In fact, he'll be Santa Claus and 
 his sled too; he'll do the whole thing. All we 
 have got to do, is to dress the children -and our- 
 selves and light up the church." 
 
 " Will the committees like that? " 
 
 "Like it? Of course they will! Like it, in- 
 deed ! Don't you see it will save them all expense? 
 They'll have nothing to do but dress up and light 
 up." 
 
 "And warm up too, I hope. What makes Mr. 
 Dillwyn do all that? I don't just make out." 
 
 " I'll tell yon," said Madge, shaking her finger 
 
 ol)4
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 505 
 
 at the others impressively. " He's after Mrs. Bar- 
 clay. So this gives him a chance to come here 
 again, don't you see ? " 
 
 "After Mrs. Barclay?" repeated Charity. "1 
 want to know ! " 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Lois. "She is too old 
 for him." 
 
 "She's not old," said Madge. "And he is no 
 chicken, my dear. You'll see. It's she he's after. 
 He's coming next time as Santa Glaus, that's all. 
 And we have got to make out a list of things 
 things for presents, for every individual girl and 
 boy in the Sunday school; there's a job for you. 
 Santa Glaus will want a big sled." 
 
 " Who is going to do ivhat?" inquired Mrs. Arma 
 dale here. " I don't understand, you speak so fast, 
 children." 
 
 " Mother, instead of a Christmas tree we are 
 going to have Santa Glaus and his sled; and 
 the sled is to be heaped full of presents for all 
 the children; and Mr. Dillwyn is going to do it, 
 and get the presents, and be Santa Glaus himself." 
 
 " How, be Santa Glaus ? " 
 
 " Why he will dress up like Santa Glaus and 
 come in with his sled." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "In the church, grandmother; there is no other 
 place. The other church have their Sunday school 
 room you know; but we have none." 
 
 "They are going to have their tree in the 
 church, though," said Charity; "they reckon the
 
 506 NOBODY. 
 
 Sunday school room won't be big enough to hold 
 all the folks." 
 
 "Are they going to turn the church into a 
 playhouse?" Mrs. Armadale asked. 
 
 " It's for the sake of the church and the school, 
 you know, mother. Santa Glaus will come in with 
 his sled and give his presents, that is all At 
 least, that is all the play there will be." 
 
 " What else will there be ? " 
 
 "0 there'll be singing, grandma," said Madge, 
 "hymns and carols and such things, that the chil- 
 dren will sing; and speeches and prayers, I suppose." 
 
 " The church used to be God's house, in my day," 
 said the old lady with a concerned face, looking 
 up from her knitting, while her fingers went on 
 with their work as busily as ever. 
 
 "They don't mean it for anything else, grand- 
 mother," said Madge. " It's all for the sake of the 
 school" 
 
 " Maybe they think so," the old lady answered. 
 
 " What else, mother ? what else should it be ? " 
 
 But this she did not answer. 
 
 "What's Mr. Dillwyn got to do with it?" she 
 asked presently. 
 
 " He's going to help," said Madge. " It's noth- 
 ing but kindness. He supposes it is something 
 good to do, and he says he'd like to be useful." 
 
 " He haint no idea how," said Mrs. Armadale, 
 "Poor creatur'! You can tell him, it aint the 
 Lord's work he's doin'." 
 
 " But we cannot tell him that, mother," said Lois.
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 50V 
 
 "If the people want to have this celebration, and 
 they will, hadn't we better make it a good one ? 
 Is it really a bad thing ? " 
 
 " The devil's ways never help no one to heaven, 
 child, not if they go singin' hymns all the way." 
 
 "But mother!" cried Madge. "Mr. Dillwyn 
 aint a Christian maybe, but he aint as bad as 
 that." 
 
 "I didn't mean Mr. Dillwyn, dear, nor no one 
 else. I meant theatre work." 
 
 "Santa Glaus, mother?" 
 
 "It'sactin', aint it?" 
 
 The girls looked at each other. 
 
 " There's very little of anything like acting about 
 it," Lois said. 
 
 " k Make straight paths for your feet ' ! " said Mrs. 
 Armadale, rising to go to bed. " ' Make straight 
 paths for your feet,' children. Straight ways is the 
 shortest too. If the chil'en that don't love their 
 teachers wants to go to the yellow church, let 'em 
 go. I'd rather have the Lord in a little school, 
 than Santa Glaus in a big one." 
 
 She was leaving the room, but the girls stayed 
 her and begged to know what they should do in 
 the matter of the lists they were engaged to pre- 
 pare for Mr. Dillwyn ? 
 
 "You must do what you think best," she said. 
 " Only don't be mixed up with it all any more than 
 you can help, Lois." 
 
 Why did the name of one child come to her 
 lips and not the other? Did the old lady's affec-
 
 508 NOBODY. 
 
 tion, or natural acuteness, discern that Mr. Dil 
 Iwyn was not drawn to Shampuashuh by any par- 
 ticular admiration of his friend Mrs. Barclay? Had 
 she some of that preternatural intuition, plain old 
 country woman though she was, which makes a 
 woman see the invisible and hear the inaudible? 
 which serves as one of the natural means of de- 
 fence granted to the weaker creatures. I do not 
 know; I do not think she knew; however, the 
 warning was given, and not on that occasion 
 alone. And as Lois heeded all her grandmother's 
 admonitions, although in this case without the 
 most remote perception of this possible ground 
 to them, it followed that Mr. Dillwyn gained less 
 by his motion than he had hoped and anticipated. 
 The scheme went forward, hailed by the whole 
 community belonging to the white church, with 
 the single exception of Mrs. Armadale. It went 
 forward and was brought to a successful termina- 
 tion. I might say, a triumphant termination; only 
 the triumph was not for Mr. Dillwyn, or not in 
 the line where he wanted it He did his part 
 admirably. A better Santa Glaus was never seen, 
 nor a better filled sled. And genial pleasantness, 
 and wise management, and cool generalship, and 
 fun and kindness, were never better represented. 
 So it was all through the consultations and arrange- 
 ments that preceded the festival, as well as on the 
 grand occasion itself; and Shampuashuh will long 
 remember the time with wonder and exultation; 
 but it was Madge who was Mr. Dillwyn's coadjutor
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 509 
 
 and fellow counsellor. It was Madge and Mrs. 
 Barclay who helped him in all the work of pre- 
 paring and ticketing the parcels for the sled; as 
 well as in the prior deliberations as to what the 
 parcels should be. Madge seemed to be the one 
 at hand always to answer a question. Madge 
 went with him to the church; and in general Lois, 
 though sympathizing and curious and interested 
 and amused, was very much out of the play. Not 
 so entirely ^as to make the fact striking; only 
 enough to leave Mr. Dillwyn disappointed and 
 tantalized. 
 
 I am not going into a description of the festival 
 and the show. The children sang; the minister 
 made a speech to them, not ten consecutive words 
 of which were listened to by three quarters of the 
 people. The church was filled with men, women 
 and children; the walls were hung with festoons 
 and wreaths and emblazoned with mottoes ; the an- 
 thems and carols followed each other till the last 
 thread of patience in the waiting crowd gave way. 
 And at last came what they were waiting for 
 Santa Glaus, all fur robes and snow and icicles, 
 dragging after him a sledge that looked like a 
 small mountain with the heap of articles piled and 
 packed upon it. And then followed a very busy 
 and delightful hour and a half, during which the 
 business was the distribution of pleasure. It was 
 such warm work for Santa Glaus, that at the time 
 he had no leisure for thinking. Naturally, the 
 thinking came afterwards.
 
 510 NOBODY. 
 
 He and Mrs. Barclay sat by her fire, resting, 
 after coming home from the church. Dillwyn 
 was very silent and meditative. 
 
 " You must be glad it is done, Philip," said his 
 friend, watching him, and wishing to get at his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I have no particular reason to be glad." 
 
 " You have done a good thing." 
 
 " I am not sure if it is a good thing. Mrs. 
 A.rmadale does not think so." ^ 
 
 " Mrs. Armadale has rather narrow notions." 
 
 " I don't know. I should be glad to be sure 
 she is not right. It's discouraging," he added 
 with half a smile ; " for the first time in my life 
 I set myself to work; and now am not at all 
 certain that I might not just as well have been 
 idle." 
 
 ** Work is a good thing in itself," said Mrs. Bar- 
 clay smiling. 
 
 " Pardon me ! work for an end. Work without 
 an end or with the end not attained it is no bet- 
 ter than a squirrel in a wheel." 
 
 " You have given a great deal of pleasure." 
 
 "To the children ! For ought I know, they might 
 have been just as well without it. There will be a 
 reaction to-morrow, very likely ; and then they will 
 wish they had gone to see the Christmas tree at 
 the other church." 
 
 " But they were kept at their own church." 
 
 "How do I know that is any good? Perhaps 
 the teaching at the other school is the best."
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 511 
 
 "You are tired," said Mrs. Barclay sympathiz- 
 ing^- 
 
 "Not that. I have done nothing to tire me; but 
 it strikes me it is very difficult to see one's ends in 
 doing good; much more difficult than to see the 
 way to the ends." 
 
 " You have partly missed your end, haven't you?" 
 said Mrs. Barclay softly. 
 
 He moved a little restlessly in his chair; then 
 got up and began to walk about the room; then 
 came and sat down again. 
 
 " What are you going to do next ? " she asked in 
 the same way. 
 
 "Suppose you invite them the two girls or her 
 alone to make you a visit in New York ? " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "At any hotel you prefer; say, the Windsor." 
 
 " Philip, Philip ! " 
 
 " What ? You could have pleasant rooms, and 
 be quite private and comfortable; as much as if 
 you were in your own house." 
 
 " And what should we cost you ? " 
 
 " You are not thinking of that ? " said he. " I will 
 get you a house, if you like it better ; but then you 
 would have the trouble of a staff of servants. I 
 think the Windsor would be much the easiest plan." 
 
 " You are in earnest ! " 
 
 " In earnest ! " he repeated in surprise. " Have 
 you ever questioned it ? You judge because you 
 never saw me in earnest in anything before in my 
 life?"
 
 512 NOBODY. 
 
 " No, indeed," said Mrs. Barclay. " I always 
 knew it was in you. What you wanted was only 
 an object." 
 
 " What do you say to my plan ? " 
 
 "I am afraid they would not come. There is the 
 care of the old grandmother; they would not leave 
 everything to their sister alone." 
 
 "Tempt them with pictures and music, and the 
 opera." 
 
 "The opera! Philip, she would not go to a the- 
 atre, or anything theatrical, for any consideration. 
 They are very strict on that point, and Sunday 
 keeping, and dancing. Do not speak to her of the 
 opera." 
 
 " They are not so far wrong. I never saw a de- 
 cent opera yet in my life." 
 
 " Philip ! " exclaimed Mrs. Barclay in the greatest 
 surprise. " I never heard you say anything like 
 that before." 
 
 " I suppose it makes a difference," he said thought- 
 fully, " with what eyes a man looks at a thing. And 
 dancing I don't think I care to see her dance." 
 
 " Philip ! You are extravagant." 
 
 " I believe I should be fit to commit murder if 
 I saw her waltzing with anybody." 
 
 " Jealous already ? " said Mrs. Barclay slyly. 
 
 " If you like. Do you see her as I see her?" he 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 There was a tone in the last words which gave 
 Mrs. Barclay's neart a kind of constriction. She 
 answered with gentle sympathy, " I think T do "
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 
 
 "I have seen handsomer women," he went on; 
 "Madge is handsomer, in a way; you may see 
 many women more beautiful, according to the 
 rules ; but I never saw any one so lovely ! " 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 "I never saw anything so lovely!" he repeated. 
 " She is most like " 
 
 " A white lily," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " No, that is not her type. No. As long as the 
 world stands, a rose just open will remain the fair- 
 est similitude for a perfect woman. It's commonness 
 cannot hinder that. She is not an unearthly Den- 
 drobium, she is an earthly rose 
 
 " 'Not too good 
 
 For human nature's daily food ' 
 
 " If one could find the right sort of human nature! 
 Just so fresh, unconscious, and fair; with just such 
 a dignity of purity about her. I cannot fancy her 
 at the opera, or dancing." 
 
 " A sort of unapproachable tea-rose ? " said Mrs. 
 Barclay smiling at him, though her eyes were 
 wistful. 
 
 "No," said he, "a tea-rose is too fragile. There* 
 is nothing of that about her, thank heaven ! " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Barclay, "there is nothing but 
 sound healthy life about her; mental and bodily; 
 and I agree with you, sweet as ever a human life 
 can be. In the garden or at her books, hai k ! 
 that is for supper." 
 
 For here there came a slight tap on the door.
 
 514 NOBODY 
 
 "Supper!" cried Philip. 
 
 "Yes; it is rather late, and the girls promised 
 me a cup of coffee, after your exertions ! But I 
 dare say everybody wants some refreshment by 
 this time. Come ! " 
 
 There was a cheery supper table spread in the 
 dining room; coffee indeed, and Stony Creek oys- 
 ters, and excellently cooked. Only Charity and 
 Madge were there; Mrs. Armadale had gone to 
 bed, and Lois was attending upon her. Mr. Dil 
 Kvyn however was served assiduously. 
 
 " I hope you're hungry ! You've done a load of 
 good this evening, Mr. Dillwyn," said Charity, as 
 she gave him his coffee. 
 
 " Thank you. I don't see the connection ? " said 
 Philip, with an air as different as possible from that 
 he had worn in talking to Mrs. Barclay in the next 
 room. 
 
 " People ought to be hungry when they have 
 done a great deal of work," Madge explained, as 
 she gave him a plate of oysters. 
 
 " I do not feel that I have done any work." 
 
 " well ! I suppose it was play to you," said 
 Charity; "but that don't make any difference. 
 You've done a load of good. Why the children 
 will never be able to forget it, nor the grown folks 
 either, as far as that goes; they'll talk of it, and of 
 you, for two years, and more." 
 
 " I am doubtful about the real worth of fame, 
 Miss Charity, even when it lasts two years." 
 
 " but you've done so much good!" said the lady.
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. o!5 
 
 " Everybody sees now that the white church can hold 
 her own. Nobody'll think of making disagreeable 
 comparisons, if they have fifty Christinas trees." 
 
 " Suppose I had helped the yellow church ? " 
 
 Charity looked as if she did not know what he 
 would be at. Just then in came Lois and took her 
 place at the table ; and Mr. Dillwyn forgot all about 
 rival churches. 
 
 ll Here's Mr. Dillwyn don't think he's done any 
 good, Lois ! " cried her elder sister. " Do cheer him 
 up a little. I think it's a shame to talk so. Why 
 we've done all we wanted to, and more. There 
 won't a soul go away from our church or school 
 after this, now they see what we can do; and I 
 shouldn't wonder if we got some accessions from 
 the other instead. And here's Mr. Dillwyn says he 
 don't know as he's done any good ! " 
 
 Lois lifted her eyes and met his, and they both 
 smiled. 
 
 "Miss Lois sees the matter as I do," he said. 
 "These are capital oysters. Where do they come 
 from?" 
 
 "But Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you have given 
 a great deal of pleasure. Isn't that good ? " 
 
 " Depends " said he. " Probably it will be fol- 
 lowed by a reaction." 
 
 "And you have kept the church together," added 
 Charity, who was zealous. 
 
 " By a rope of sand, then, Miss Charity " 
 
 "At any rate, Mr. Dillwyn, you meant to do 
 good," Lois put in here.
 
 516 NOBODY. 
 
 " I do not know, Miss Lois. I am afraid I was 
 thinking more of pleasure, myself; and shall expe- 
 rience myself the reaction I spoke of. I think I 
 feel the shadow of it already, as a coming event." 
 
 " But if we aren't to have any pleasure, because 
 afterwards we feel a little flat, and of course we 
 do," said Charity; "everybody knows that. But, 
 for instance, if we're not to have green peas in 
 summer, because we can't have 'em any way but 
 dry in winter, things would be very queer ! 
 Queerer than they are; and they're queer enough 
 already." 
 
 This speech called forth some merriment. 
 
 " You think even the dry remains of pleasure 
 are better than nothing ! " said Philip. " Perhaps 
 you are right." 
 
 " And to have those, we must have had the green 
 reality," said Lois merrily. 
 
 " I wonder if there is any way of keeping pleas- 
 ure green ? " said Dillwyn. 
 
 "Vain, vain, Mr. Dillwyn!" said Mrs. Barclay. 
 " ' Tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe ! ' Don't you know ? 
 Solomon said, I believe, that all was vanity. And 
 he ought to know." 
 
 " But he didn't know," said Lois quickly. 
 
 " Lois ! " said Charity" it's in the Bible." 
 
 " I know it is in the Bible that he said so," Loig 
 rejoined merrily. 
 
 " Was he not right, then ? " Mr. Dillwyn asked. 
 
 " Perhaps," Lois answered, now gravely, " if you 
 take simply his view."
 
 AN OYSTER SUPPER. 517 
 
 " What was his view ? Won't you explain ? " 
 
 " I suppose you aint going to set up to be wiser 
 than Solomon, at this time of day," said Charity se- 
 verely. But that stirred Lois's merriment again. 
 
 "Explain, Miss Lois!" said Dillwyn. 
 
 " I am not Solomon, that I should preach," she 
 said. 
 
 " You just said you knew better than he," said 
 Charity. " How you should know better than the 
 Bible, I don't see. It's news." 
 
 " Why Charity, Solomon was not a good man." 
 
 " How came he to write Proverbs, then ? " 
 
 " At least, he was not always a good man." 
 
 "That don't hinder his knowing what was van 
 ity, does it ? " 
 
 " But Lois ! " said Mrs. Barclay. " Go back, and 
 tell us your secret, if you have one. How was Sol- 
 omon's view mistaken ? or what is yours ? " 
 
 "These things were all given for our pleasure, 
 Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " But they die and they go and they fade," 
 said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 "You will not understand me," said Lois; "and 
 yet it is true. If you are Christ's then, 'all things 
 are yours; . . . the world, or life, or death, or things 
 present, or things to come: all are yours.' There 
 is no loss, but there comes more gain." 
 
 " I wish you'd let Mr. Dillwyn have some more 
 oysters," said Charity; "and Madge, do hand along 
 Mrs. Barclay's cup. You mustn't talk, if you can't 
 eat at the same time. Lois aint Solomon yet, if
 
 518 NOBODY. 
 
 she does preach. You shut up, Lois, and mind 
 your supper. My rule is, to enjoy things as I go 
 along; and just now, it's oysters." 
 
 "I will say for Lois," here put in Mrs. Barclay, 
 "that she does exemplify her own principles. I 
 never knew anybody with such a spring of per- 
 petual enjoyment." 
 
 " She aint happier than the rest of us," said the 
 elder sister. 
 
 " Not so happy as grandmother," added Madge. 
 " At least, grandmother would say so. I don't know '
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIJ. 
 
 BREAKING UP. 
 
 MR. DILLWYN went away. Things returned 
 to their normal condition at Shampuashuh, 
 saving that for a while there was a great deal of 
 talk about the Santa Glaus doings and the princi- 
 pal actor in them, and no end of speculations as 
 to his inducements and purposes to be served in 
 taking so much trouble. For Shampuashuh people 
 were shrewd, and did not believe any more than 
 King Lear that anything could come of nothing. 
 That he was not moved by general benevolence, 
 poured out upon the school of the white church, 
 was generally agreed. "What's we to him ?" asked 
 pertinently one of the old ladies; and vain efforts 
 were made to ascertain Mr. Dillwyn's denomina- 
 tion. "For all I kin make out, he hain't got none," 
 was the declaration of another matron. " I don't 
 b'lieve he's no better than he should be." Which 
 was ungrateful, and hardly justified Miss Charity's 
 prognostications of enduring fame; by which of 
 course she meant good fame. - Few had seen Mr. 
 Dillwyn undisguised, so that they could give a
 
 520 NOBODY. 
 
 report of him ; but Mrs. Marx assured them he was 
 "a real personable man; nice and plain, and takin' 
 no airs. She liked him first rate." 
 
 " Who's he after ? Not one o' your gals ? " 
 
 "Mercy, no! He, indeed! He's one of the high- 
 flyers; he won't come to Shampuashuh to look for 
 a wife. 'Seems to me he's made o' money; and 
 he's been everywhere; he's fished for crocodiles in 
 the Nile, and eaten his luncheon at the top of the 
 Pyramids of Egypt, and sailed to the North Pole 
 to be sure of cool lemonade in summer. He won't 
 marry in Shampuashuh." 
 
 " What brings him here then ? " 
 
 " The spirit of restlessness, I should say. Those 
 people that have been everywhere, you may notice, 
 can't stay nowhere. I always knew there was fools 
 in the world, but I didrit know there was so many 
 of 'em as there be. He aint no fool neither, some 
 ways; and that makes him a bigger fool in the end; 
 only I don't know why the fools should have all 
 the money." 
 
 And so, after a little, the talk about this theme 
 died out, and things settled down, not without 
 some of the reaction Mr. Dillwyn had predicted; 
 but they settled down, and all was as before in 
 Shampuashuh. Mr. Dillwyn did not come again 
 to make a visit, or Mrs. Marx's aroused vigilance 
 would have found some ground for suspicion. There 
 did come numerous presents of game and fruit from 
 him, but they were sent to Mrs. Barclay, and could 
 not be objected against, although they came in such
 
 BREAKING UP. 521 
 
 quantities that the whole household had to combine 
 to dispose of them. What would Philip do next ? 
 Mrs. Barclay queried. As he had said, he could 
 not go on with repeated visits to the house. Madge 
 and Lois would not hear of being tempted to New 
 York, paint the picture as bright as she would. 
 Things were not ripe for any decided step on Mr. 
 Dillwyn's part, and how should they become so? 
 Mrs. Barclay could not see the way. She did for 
 Philip what she could by writing to him, whether 
 for his good or his harm she could not decide. She, 
 feared the latter. She told him, however, of the 
 sweet, quiet life she was leading; of the reading 
 she was doing with the two girls, and the whole 
 family; of the progress Lois and Madge were mak- 
 ing in singing and drawing and in various branches 
 of study ; of the walks in the fresh sea breezes, and 
 the cozy evenings with wood fires and the lamp; 
 and she told him how they enjoyed his game, and 
 what a comfort the oranges were to Mrs. Armadale 
 
 This lasted through January, and then there 
 came a change. Mrs. Armadale was ill. There 
 was no more question of visits, or of studies; and 
 all sorts of enjoyments and occupations gave place 
 to the one absorbing interest of watching and wait- 
 ing upon the sick one. And then, that ceased too. 
 Mrs. Armadale had caught cold, she had not strength 
 to throw off disease; it took violent form, and in a 
 few days ran its course. Very suddenly the little 
 family found itself without its head. 
 
 There was nothing to grieve for, but their own
 
 522 NOBODY. 
 
 loss. The long, weary, earth journey was done, 
 and the traveller had taken up her abode where 
 there is 
 
 " The rest begun, 
 That Christ hath for his people won. 
 
 She had gone triumphantly. " Through God we 
 shall do valiantly" being her last uttered words. 
 Her children took them as a legacy, and felt rich. 
 But they looked at her empty chair, and counted 
 themselves poorer than ever before. Mrs. Barclay 
 -saw that the mourning was deep. Yet with the 
 reserved strength of New England natures, it made 
 no noise, and scarce any show. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay lived much alone those first days. 
 She would gladly have talked to somebody; she 
 wanted to know about the affairs of the little 
 family, but saw no one to talk to. Until, two or 
 three days after the funeral, coming home one 
 afternoon from a walk in the cold, she found her 
 fire had died out; and she went into the next 
 room to warm herself. There she saw none of 
 the usual inmates. Mrs. Armadale's chair stood 
 on one side the fire, unoccupied, and on the other 
 side stood uncle Tim Hotchkiss. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Hotchkiss. May I come 
 and warm myself? I have been out, and I am 
 half frozen." 
 
 "I guess you're welcome to most anything in 
 this house, ma'am, and fire we wouldn't grudge 
 to anybody. Sit down, ma'am ; " and he set a 
 chair for her. " It's pretty tight weather."
 
 BREAKING UP. 523 
 
 "We had nothing like this last winter," said 
 Mrs. Barclay shivering. 
 
 " We expect to hev one or two snaps in the 
 course of the winter," said Mr. Hotchkiss. " Shamp 
 uashuh aint what you call a cold place; but we 
 expect to see them two snaps. It comes season 
 able this time. I'd rayther hev it now than in 
 March. My sister that's gone, she could al- 
 ways tell you how the weather was goin' to be. 
 I've never seen no one like her for that." 
 
 "Nor for some other things," said Mrs. Bar- 
 clay. "It is a sad change to feel her place 
 empty." 
 
 "Ay," said uncle Tim, with a glance at the 
 unused chair, "it's the difference between full and 
 empty. ' I went out full, and the Lord has brought 
 me back empty,' Ruth's mother-in-law said." 
 
 "Who is Ruth?" Mrs. Barclay asked, a little 
 bewildered, and willing to change the subject; for 
 she noticed a suppressed quiver in the hard features. 
 " Do I know her ? " 
 
 " I mean Ruth the Moabitess. Of course you 
 know her. She was a poor heathen thing, but 
 she got all right at last. It was her mother-in-law 
 that was bitter. Well troubles hadn't ought to 
 make us bitter. I guess there's allays somethin' 
 wrong when they do." 
 
 " Hard to help it, sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 " She wouldn't ha' let you say that," said the 
 old man, indicating sufficiently by his accent of 
 whom he was speaking. "There warn't no bitter-
 
 524 NOBODY. 
 
 ness in her ; and she had seen trouble enough . 
 She's out o' it now." 
 
 " What will the girls do ? Stay on and keep the 
 house here just as they have done ? " 
 
 "Well, I don' know," said Mr. Hotchkiss, evi- 
 dently glad to welcome a business question, and 
 now taking a chair himself. "Mrs. Marx and 
 me, we've ben arguin' that question out, and it 
 aint decided. There's one big house here, and 
 there's another where Mrs. Marx lives ; and there's 
 one little family, and here's another little family. 
 It's expensive to scatter over so much ground. 
 They had ought to come to Mrs. Marx, or she had 
 ought to move in here, and then the other house 
 could be rented. That's how the thing looks to 
 me. It's expensive for five people to take two big 
 houses to live in. I know, the girls have got you 
 now; but they might not keep you allays; and 
 we must look at things as they be." 
 
 "I must leave them in the spring," said Mrs. 
 Barclay hastily. 
 
 " In the spring, must ye ! " 
 
 " Must," she repeated. " I would like to stay 
 here the rest of my life; but circumstances are 
 imperative. I must go in the spring." 
 
 " Then I think that settles it," said Mr. Hotch- 
 kiss. " I'm glad to know it. That is ! of course 
 I'm sorry ye're goin'; the girls be very fond of 
 you." 
 
 "And I of them," said Mrs. Barclay; "but I 
 must go."
 
 BREAKING UP. 525 
 
 After that, she waited for the chance of a talk 
 with Lois. She waited not long. The household 
 had hardly settled down into regular ways again 
 after the disturbance of sickness and death, when 
 Lois came one evening at twilight into Mrs. Barclay's 
 room. She sat down, at first was silent, and then 
 burst into tears. Mrs. Barclay let her alone, know- 
 ing that for her just now the tears were good. And 
 the woman who had seen so much heavier life- 
 storms looked on almost with a feeling of envy 
 at the weeping which gave so simple and frank 
 expression to grief. Until this feeling was over- 
 come by another, and she begged Lois to weep no 
 more. 
 
 " I do not mean it I did not mean it " said 
 Lois drying her eyes. " It is ungrateful of me; for 
 we have so much to be thankful for. I am so glad 
 for grandmother ! " Yet somehow the tears went 
 on falling. 
 
 "Glad?" repeated Mrs. Barclay doubtfully. 
 " You mean, because she is out of her suffering." 
 
 "She did not suffer much. It is not that. I am 
 BO glad to think she has got home ! " 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Barclay in a constrained 
 voice, "to such a person as your grandmother, 
 death has no fear. Yet life seems to me more de- 
 sirable." 
 
 " She has entered into life ! " said Lois. " She is 
 where she wanted to be, and with what she loved 
 best. And 1 am very, very glad ! even though 1 
 do cry."
 
 526 NOBODY. 
 
 "How can you speak with such certainty, Lois? 
 I know, in such a case as that of your grandmother 
 there could be no fear; and yet I do not see how 
 you can speak as if you knew where she is, and 
 with whom ? " 
 
 "Only because the Bible tells us," said Lois, 
 smiling even through wet eyes. "Not the place; 
 it does not tell us the place ; but with Christ. That 
 they are ; and that is all we want to know. 
 
 " 'Beyond the sighing and the weeping ' 
 
 " it makes me gladder than ever I can tell you, to 
 think of it." 
 
 "Then what are those tears for, my dear?" 
 
 "It's the turning over a leaf," said Lois sadly, 
 " and that is always sorrowful. And I have lost 
 Uncle Tim says," she broke off suddenly, " he says, 
 can it be ? he says you say you must go from 
 us in the spring?" 
 
 "That is turning over another leaf," said Mrs. 
 Barclay. 
 
 -But is it true?" 
 
 "Absolutely true. Circumstances make it im- 
 perative. It is not my wish. I would like to stay 
 here with you all my life." 
 
 " I wish you could. I half hoped you would," 
 said Lois wistfully. 
 
 " But I cannot, my dear. I cannot." 
 
 "Then that is another thing over," said Lois. 
 "What a good time it has been, this year and 
 a half you have been with us! how much worth
 
 BREAKING UP. 527 
 
 to Madge and me! But won't you come back 
 again ? " 
 
 " I fear not. You will not miss me so much ; you 
 will all keep house together, Mr. Hotchkiss tells 
 me." 
 
 "/shall not be here," said Lois. 
 
 "Where will you be?" Mrs. Barclay started. 
 
 " I don't know ; but it will be best for me to do 
 something to help along. I think I shall take a 
 school somewhere. I think I can get one." 
 
 "A school, my dear? Why should you do such 
 a thing?" 
 
 "To help along," said Lois. "You know, we 
 have not much to live on here at home. I should 
 make one less here, and I should be earning a little, 
 besides." 
 
 "Very little, Lois!" 
 
 "Very little will do." 
 
 " But you do a great deal now towards the fam- 
 ily support. What will become of your garden?" 
 
 " Uncle Tim can take care of that. Besides, Mrs. 
 Barclay, even if I could stay at home, I think I 
 ought not. I ought to be doing something be of 
 some use in the world. I am not needed here, now 
 dear grandmother is gone; and there must be some 
 other place where I am needed." 
 
 " My dear, somebody will want you to keep house 
 for him, some of these days." 
 
 Lois shook her head. " I do not think of it," she 
 said. " I do not think it is very likely ; that is, any- 
 body / should want. But if it were true," she
 
 528 NOBODY. 
 
 added looking up and smiling, " that has nothing 
 to do with present duty." 
 
 " My dear, I cannot bear to think of your going 
 into such drudgery ! " 
 
 " Drudgery? " said Lois. " I do not know, per- 
 haps I should not find it so. But I may as well do 
 it as somebody else." 
 
 "You are fit for something better." 
 
 "There is nothing better, and there is nothing 
 happier," said Lois rising, " than to do what God 
 gives us to do. I should not be unhappy, Mrs. 
 Barclay. It wouldn't be just like these days we 
 have passed together, I suppose ; these days have 
 been a garden of flowers." 
 
 And what have they all amounted to? thought 
 Mrs. Barclay when she was left alone. Have I 
 done any good? or only harm? by acceding to 
 that mad proposition of Philip's. Some good, surely ; 
 these two girls have grown and changed, mentally, 
 at a great rate of progress; they are educated, cul- 
 tivated, informed, refined, to a degree that I would 
 never have thought a year and a half could do. 
 Even so! have I done them good? They are lifted 
 quite out of the level of their surroundings; and to 
 be lifted so, means sometimes a barren living alone. 
 Yet I will not think that; it is better to rise in the 
 scale of being, if ever one can, whatever comes of 
 it; what one is in oneself is of more importance 
 than one's relations to the world around. But Philip ? 
 I have helped him nourish this fancy and it is 
 uot a fancy uow it is the man's whole life. Heigh
 
 BREAKING UP. 529 
 
 ho ! I begin to think he was right, and that it is 
 very difficult to know what is doing good and what 
 isn't. I must write to Philip 
 
 So she did, at once. She told him of the contem- 
 plated changes in the family arrangements ; of Lois' i? 
 plan for teaching a district school; and declared 
 that she herself must now leave Shampuashuh. 
 She had done what she came for, whether for good 
 or for ill. It was done; and she could no longer 
 continue living there on Mr. Dillwyn's bounty 
 Now it would be mere bounty, if she staid where 
 she was; until now she might say she had been 
 doing his work. His work was done now, her part 
 of it; the rest he must finish for himself. Mrs. 
 Barclay would leave Shampuashuh in April. 
 
 This letter would bring matters to a point, she 
 thought, if anything could; she much expected to 
 see Mr. Dillwyn himself appear again before March 
 was over. He did not come however; he wrote a 
 short answer to Mrs. Barclay, saying that he was 
 sorry for her resolve, and would combat it if he 
 could; but felt that he had not the power. She 
 must satisfy her fastidious notions of independence, 
 and he could only thank her to the last day of his 
 life for what she had already done for him; service 
 which thanks could never repay. He sent this let- 
 ter, but said nothing of coming; and he did not 
 come. 
 
 Later, Mrs. Barclay wrote again. The household 
 changes were just about to be made; she herself 
 had but a week or two more in Shampuashuh ; and
 
 530 NOBODY. 
 
 Lois, against all expectation, had found opportunity 
 immediately to try her vocation for teaching. The 
 lady placed over a school in a remote little village, 
 had suddenly died; and the trustees of the school 
 had considered favourably Lois's application. She 
 \vas going in a day or two to undertake the charge 
 of a score or two of boys and girls, of all ages, in a 
 wild and rough part of the country ; where even 
 the accommodations for her own personal comfort, 
 Mrs. Barclay feared, would be of the plainest. 
 
 To this letter also she received an answer, 
 though after a little interval. Mr. Dillwyn wrote, 
 he regretted Lois's determination; regretted that 
 she thought it necessary; but appreciated the 
 straight-forward, unflinching, sense of duty which 
 never consulted with ease or selfishness. He him- 
 self was going, he added, on business, for a time, 
 to the North ; that is, not Massachusetts, but Canada. 
 He would therefore not see Mrs. Barclay until after 
 a considerable interval 
 
 Mrs. Barclay did not know what to make of this 
 letter. Had Philip given up his fancy? It was 
 not like him. Men are fickle, it is true ; but fickle 
 in his friendships she had never known Mr. Dil- 
 lwyn to be. Yet this letter said nothing of love, 
 or hope, or fear; it was cool, friendly, business- 
 like. Mrs. Barclay nevertheless did not know 
 how to believe in the business. He have business ! 
 What business? She had always known him as 
 an easy, graceful, pleasure-taker; finding his pleas- 
 ure in no evil ways indeed; kept from that by early
 
 BREAKING UP. 531 
 
 associations, or by his own refined tastes and sense 
 of honour; but never living to anything but pleas- 
 ure. His property was ample and unencumbered; 
 even the care of that was not difficult and did not- 
 require much of his time. And now, just when 
 he ought to put in his claim for Lois, if he was 
 ever going to make it; just when she was set 
 loose from her old ties and marking out a new 
 and hard way of life for herself, he ought to come; 
 and he was going on business to Canada ! Mrs. 
 Barclay was excessively disgusted and disappointed. 
 She had not indeed all along seen how Philip's woo- 
 ing could issue successfully, if it ever came to the 
 point of wooing; the elements were too discordant, 
 and principles too obstinate ; and yet she had worked 
 on in hope, vague and doubtful, but still hope, think- 
 ing highly herself of Mr. Dillwyn's pretensions and 
 powers of persuasion, and knowing that in human 
 nature at large all principle and all discordance is 
 apt to come to a signal defeat when Love takes 
 the field. But now there seemed to be no question 
 of wooing; Love was not on hand, where his power 
 was wanted ; the friends were all scattered one from 
 another; Lois going to the drudgery of teaching 
 rough boys and girls, she herself to the seclusion 
 of some quiet seaside retreat, and Mr. Dillwyn 
 to hunt bears ? in Canada.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 LUXURY. 
 
 SO they were all scattered. But the moving and 
 communicating 'wires of human society seem 
 as often as any way to run underground; quite out 
 of sight, at least; then specially strong, when to 
 an outsider they appear to be broken and parted 
 for ever. 
 
 Into the history of the summer it is impossible 
 to go minutely. What Mr. Dillwyn did in Can- 
 ada, and how Lois fought with ignorance and 
 rudeness and prejudice in her new situation, Mrs. 
 Barclay learned but very imperfectly from the let- 
 ters she received; so imperfectly, that she felt she 
 knew nothing. Mr. Dillwyn never mentioned Miss 
 Lothrop. Could it be, that he had prematurely 
 brought things to a decision, and so got them de- 
 cided wrong? But in that case Mrs. Barclay felt 
 sure some sign would have escaped Lois; and she 
 gave none. 
 
 The summer passed and two thirds of the autumn. 
 
 One evening in the end of October, Mrs. Wishart 
 
 was sitting alone in her back drawing room. She 
 (532)
 
 LUXURY. 533 
 
 was suffering from a cold, and cuddling herself 
 over the fire. Her major domo brought her Mr. 
 Dillwyn's name and request for admission, which 
 was joyfully granted. Mrs. Wishart was denied to 
 ordinary visitors; and Philip's arrival was like a 
 benediction. 
 
 "Where have you been all summer?" she asked 
 him, when they had talked awhile of some things 
 nearer home. 
 
 " In the backwoods of Canada." 
 
 " The backwoods of Canada ! " 
 
 " I assure you, it is a very enjoyable region." 
 
 " What could you find to do there ? " 
 
 "More than enough. I spent my time between 
 hunting fishing and studying." 
 
 "Studying what, pray? Not backwoods farm- 
 ing, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well no, not exactly. Backwoods farming is 
 not precisely in my line." 
 
 "What is in your line, that you could study 
 there?" 
 
 "It is not a bad place to study anything; if you 
 except perhaps art, and antiquity." 
 
 " I did not know you studied anything but art." 
 
 " It is hardly a sufficient object to fill a man's life 
 worthily; do you think so?" 
 
 " What would fill it worthily ? " the lady asked, 
 with a kind of dreary abstractedness. And if 
 Philip had surprised her a moment before, he was 
 surprised in his turn. As he did not answer im- 
 mediately, Mrs. Wishart went on.
 
 534 NOBODY. 
 
 "A man's life, or a woman's life? What would 
 fill it worthily? Do you know? Sometimes it 
 seems to me that we are all living for nothing." 
 
 " T am ready to confess, that has been the case 
 with me, to my shame be it said." 
 
 " I mean, that there isnothing really worth liv- 
 ing for." 
 
 " That cannot be true, however." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I 
 am unable to enjoy anything in my life. And 
 yet, if you stop to think, what does anybody's life 
 amount to ? Nobody's missed, after he is gone ; or 
 only for a minute ; and for himself There is not a 
 year of my life that I can remember, that I would 
 be willing to live over again." 
 
 " Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end 
 of existence. I mean, of this existence." 
 
 " What do we know of any other ? And if we do 
 not enjoy ourselves, pray what in the world should 
 we live for ? " 
 
 "I have seen people that I thought enjoyed 
 themselves," Philip said slowly. 
 
 " Have you ? Who were they ? I do not know 
 them." 
 
 " You know some of them. Do you recollect a 
 friend of mine, for whom you negotiated lodgings 
 at a far-off country village ? " 
 
 "Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?" 
 
 "They took her. And I had the pleasure once 
 or twice of visiting her there." 
 
 " Did she like it ? "
 
 LUXURY. 535 
 
 "Very much. She could not help liking it. And 
 I thought those people seemed to enjoy life. Not 
 relatively, but positively." 
 
 " The Lothrops ! " cried Mrs. Wishart. " I can- 
 not conceive it. Why they are very poor." 
 
 "That made no hindrance, in their case." 
 
 "Poor people, I am afraid they have not been 
 enjoying themselves this year." 
 
 " I heard of Mrs. Armadale's death." 
 
 " Yes. she was old ; she could not be expect- 
 ed to live long. But they are all broken up." 
 
 " How am I to understand that? " 
 
 " Well you know they have very % little to 
 live upon. I suppose it was for that reason, 
 Lois went off to a distance from home to teach a 
 district school. You know, or do you know ? 
 what country schools are, in some places; this was 
 one of the places. Pretty rough; arid hard living. 
 And then, a railroad was opened in the neighbour- 
 hood the place became sickly a fever broke out 
 among Lois's scholars and the families they came 
 from; and Lois spent her vacation in nursing. 
 Then got sick herself with the fever, and is only 
 just now getting well." 
 
 " I heard something of this before from Mrs. 
 Barclay." 
 
 "Then Madge went to take care of Lois, and 
 they were both there. That is weeks and weeks 
 ago, months, I should think." 
 
 "But the sick one is well again ? " 
 
 " She is better. But one does not get up from
 
 536 NOBODY. 
 
 those fevers so soon. One's strength is gone. 
 I have sent for them to come and make me a 
 visit and recruit." 
 
 "They are coming, I hope?" 
 
 "I expect them here to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn had nearly been betrayed into an 
 exclamation. He remembered himself in time, and 
 replied with proper self-possession that he was 
 very glad to hear it. 
 
 "Yes, I told them to come here and rest up. 
 They must want it, poor girls, both of them." 
 
 "Then they are coming to-morrow?" 
 
 " Yes.; 
 
 " By what train ? " 
 
 " I believe, it is the New Haven train that gets 
 in about five o'clock. Or six. I do not know 
 exactly." 
 
 " I know. Now, Mrs. Wishart, you are not well 
 yourself, and must not go out. I will meet the 
 train and bring them safe to you." 
 
 " You ? that's delightful. I have been puz- 
 zling my brain to know how I should manage; for 
 I am not fit to go out yet, and servants are so un- 
 satisfactory. Will you really? That's good of 
 you!" 
 
 " Not at all. It is the least I can do. The 
 family received me most kindly on more than one 
 occasion; and I would gladly do them a greater 
 service than this." 
 
 At two o'clock next day the waiting room of the 
 New Haven station held, among others, two very
 
 LUXURY. 537 
 
 handsome young girls; who kept close together 
 waiting for their summons to the train. One of 
 them was very pale and thin and feeble-looking 
 and indeed sat so that she leaned part of her 
 weight upon her sister. Madge was pale too, and 
 looked somewhat anxious. Both pairs of eyes 
 watched languidly the moving, various groups of 
 travellers clustered about in the room. 
 
 "Madge, it's like a dream!" murmured the one. 
 girl to the other. 
 
 "What? If you mean this crowd, my dreams 
 have more order in them." 
 
 " I mean, being away from Esterbrooke, and off 
 a sick bed, and moving, and especially going to 
 where we are going. It's a dream ! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Too good to be true. I had thought, do 
 you know, I never should make a visit there 
 again." 
 
 "Why not, Lois?" 
 
 " I thought it would be best not. But now the 
 way seems clear, and I can take the fun of it. It 
 is clearly right to go." 
 
 " Of course ! It is always right to go wherever 
 you are asked." 
 
 " Oh no, Madge ! " 
 
 " Well, wherever the invitation is honest, I 
 mean." 
 
 " Oh that isn't enough." 
 
 " What else ? supposing you have the means to 
 go. I am not sure that we have that condition in
 
 53 NOBODY. 
 
 the present instance. But if you have, what else 
 is to be waited for ? " 
 
 " Duty " Lois whispered. 
 
 " bother duty ! Here have you gone and al- 
 most killed yourself for duty." 
 
 " Well, supposing one does kill oneself? one 
 must do what is duty." 
 
 " That isn't duty." 
 
 "Git may be." 
 
 " Not to kill yourself. You have almost killed 
 yourself, Lois." 
 
 " I couldn't help it." 
 
 "Yes, you could. You make duty a kind of 
 iron thing." 
 
 "Not iron," said Lois; she spoke slowly and 
 faintly, but now she smiled. " It is golden ! " 
 
 "That don't help. Chains of gold may be as 
 hard to* break as chains of iron." 
 
 "Who wants them broken?" said Lois in the 
 same slow, contented way. " Duty ? Why Madge, 
 it's the King's orders ! " 
 
 "Do you mean that you were ordered to go 
 to that place, and then to nurse those children 
 through the fever ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " I should be terribly afraid of duty, if I thought 
 it came in such shapes. There's the train ! Now 
 if you can get down stairs " 
 
 That was accomplished, though with tottering 
 steps, and Lois was safely seated in one of the 
 cars, and her head pillowed upon the back of the
 
 LUXURY. i>39 
 
 seat There was no more talking then for some 
 time. Only when Haarlem bridge was past and 
 New York close* at hand, Lois spoke. 
 
 "Madge, suppose Mrs. Wishart should not be 
 there to meet us? You must think what you 
 would do." 
 
 "Why, the train don't go any further, does 
 it?" 
 
 "No! but it goes back. I mean, it will not 
 stand still for you. It moves away out of the 
 station house as soon as it is empty." 
 
 "There will be carriages waiting, I suppose. 
 But I am sure I hope she will meet us. I wrote in 
 plenty of time. Don't worry, dear! we'll manage." 
 
 " I am not worrying," said Lois. " I am a great 
 deal too happy to worry." 
 
 However, that was not Madge's case, and she 
 felt very fidgety. With Lois so feeble, and in a 
 place so unknown to her, and with baggage checks 
 to dispose of, and so little time to do anything, 
 and no doubt a crowd of doubtful characters loung- 
 ing about, as she had always heard they did in 
 New York; Madge did wish very anxiously for a 
 pilot and a protector. As the train slowly moved 
 into the Grand Central, she eagerly looked to see 
 some friend appear. But none appeared. 
 
 " We must go out, Madge," said Lois. " Maybe 
 we shall find Mrs. Wishart I dare say we shall 
 she could not come into the cars " 
 
 The two made their way accordingly, slowly, at 
 the end of the procession filing out of the car,
 
 540 NOBODY. 
 
 till Madge got out upon the. platform. There she 
 uttered an exclamation of joy. 
 
 " Lois ! there's Mr. Dillwyn ? " 
 
 "But we are looking for Mrs. Wishart," said 
 Lois. 
 
 The next thing she knew, however, somebody 
 was carefully helping her down to the landing; 
 and then, her hand was on a stronger arm than 
 that of Mrs. Wishart, and she was slowly following 
 the stream of people to the front of the station 
 house. Lois was too exhausted by this time to 
 ask any questions; suffered herself to be put in a 
 carriage passively, where Madge took her place 
 also, while Mr. Dillwyn went to give the checks 
 of their baggage in charge to an expressman. 
 Lois then broke out again with, 
 
 " Madge, it's like a dream ! " 
 
 "Isn't it?" said Madge. "I have been in a 
 regular fidget for two hours past, for fear Mrs, 
 Wishart would not be here." 
 
 " I didn't fidget," said Lois, " but I did not know 
 how I was going to get from the cars to the 
 carriage. I feel in a kind of exhausted elysinm ! " 
 
 " It's convenient to have a man belonging to 
 one," said Madge. 
 
 " Hush, pray ! " said Lois closing her eyes. And 
 she hardly opened them again until the carriage 
 arrived at Mrs. Wishart's; which was something 
 of a drive. Madge and Mr. Dillwyn kept up 
 a lively conversation, about the journey and Lois's 
 condition, and her summer; and how he happened
 
 LUXURY. Mi 
 
 to be at the Grand Central. He went to meet 
 some friends, he said coolly, whom he expected 
 to see by that train. 
 
 "Then we must have been in your way,' ex- 
 claimed Madge regretfully. 
 
 "Not at all," he said. 
 
 " But we hindered you from taking care of your 
 friends ? " 
 
 "No," he said indifferently; "by no means. They 
 are taken care of." 
 
 And both Madge and Lois were too simple to 
 know what he meant. 
 
 At Mrs. Wishart's, Lois was again helped care- 
 fully out and carefully in, and half carried up stairs 
 to her own room, whither it was decided she had 
 better go at once. And there, after being furnished 
 with a bowl of broth, she was left, while the others 
 went down to tea. So Madge found her an hour 
 afterwards, sunk in the depths of a great, soft easy 
 chair, gazing at the fanciful flames of a kennel coal 
 fire. 
 
 " Madge, it's a dream ! " Lois said again lan- 
 guidly, though with plenty of expression. " I can't 
 believe in the change from Esterbrooke here." 
 
 "It's a change from Shampuashuh," Madge re- 
 turned. " Lois, I didn't know things could be so 
 pretty. And we have had the most delightful tea, 
 and something cakes Mrs. Wishart calls ivigs, 
 the best things you ever saw in your life; but 
 Mr. Dillwyn wouldn't let us send some up to you.' 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn I '
 
 542 NOBODY. 
 
 " Yes, he said they were not good for you. He 
 has been just as pleasant as he could be. I never 
 saw anybody so pleasant. I like Mr. Dillwyn very 
 much." 
 
 " Don't ! " said Lois languidly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You had better not." 
 
 "But why not? You are ungrateful, it seems 
 to me, if you don't like him." 
 
 " I like him," said Lois slowly; "but he belongs 
 to a different world from ours. The worlds can't 
 come together; so it is best not to like him too 
 much." 
 
 " How do you mean, a different world ? " 
 
 "0 he's different, Madge! All his thoughts and 
 ways and associations are unlike ours a great way 
 off from ours; and must be. It is best as I said. 
 I guess it is best not to like anybody too much." 
 
 With which oracular and superhumanly wise ut- 
 terance, Lois closed her eyes softly again. Madge, 
 provoked, was about to carry on the discussion, 
 when noticing how pale the cheek was which lay 
 against the crimson chair cushion, and how very 
 delicate the lines of the face, she thought better 
 of it and was silent. A while later, however, when 
 she had brought Lois a cup of gruel and biscuit, 
 she broke out on a new theme. 
 
 "What a thing it is, that some people should 
 have so much silver and other people so little ! " 
 
 "What silver are you thinking of?" 
 
 *Why Mrs. Wishart's, to be sure. Who's else?
 
 LUXURY. 543 
 
 I never saw anything like it, out of Aladdin's cave. 
 Great urns, and salvers, and cream jugs, and sugar 
 bowls, and cake baskets, and pitchers, and salt- 
 cellars. The salt-cellars were lined with something 
 yellow, or washed, to hinder the staining, I suppose." 
 
 Gold" said Lois. 
 
 "Gold?" 
 
 "Yes. Plated with gold." 
 
 " Well I never saw anything like the sideboard 
 down stairs; the sideboard and the tea-table. It 
 is funny, Lois; as I said; why some should have 
 so much and others so little." 
 
 "We, you mean? What should we do with a 
 load of silver ? " 
 
 " I wish I had it, and then you'd see ! You should 
 have a silk dress, to begin with, and so should I." 
 
 " Never mind," said Lois, letting her eyelids fall 
 again with an expression of supreme content, hav- 
 ing finished her gruel. "There are compensations, 
 Madge." 
 
 "Compensations! What compensations? We 
 are hardly respectably dressed, you and 1, for 
 this place." 
 
 " Never mind ! " said Lois again. " If you had 
 been sick as I was, and in that place, and among 
 those people, you would know something." 
 
 " What should I know ? " 
 
 " How delightful this chair is ; and how good 
 that gruel, out of a china cup ; and how delicious 
 all this luxury. Mrs. Wishart isn't as rich as I 
 am to-night '
 
 544 NOBODY. 
 
 "The difference is, she can keep it, and you 
 cannot, you poor child ! " 
 
 " yes, I can keep it," said Lois, in the slow, 
 happy accent with which she said everything to- 
 night; "I can keep the remembrance of it, and 
 the good of it. When I get back to my work, I 
 shall not want it." 
 
 " Your work ! " said Madge. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Esterbrooke ! " 
 
 " Yes, if they want me." 
 
 " You are never going back to that place ! " ex- 
 claimed Madge energetically. " Never ; not with 
 my good leave. Bury yourself in that wild coun- 
 try, and kill yourself with hard work ! Not if I 
 know it." 
 
 " If that is the work given me " said Lois, in 
 the same calm voice. "They want somebody there, 
 badly; and I have made a beginning." 
 
 "A nice beginning! almost killed yourself. 
 Now, Lois, don't think about anything! Do you 
 know, Mrs. Wishart says you are the handsomest 
 girl she ever saw ? " 
 
 " That's a mistake. I know several much hand- 
 somer." 
 
 "She tried to make Mr. Dillwyn say so too; and 
 he wouldn't." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 " It was funny to hear them ; she tried to drive 
 him up to the point, and he wouldn't be driven; he 
 said one clever thing after another, but always
 
 LUXURY. 545 
 
 managed to give her no answer; till at last she 
 pinned him with a point blank question." 
 
 " What did he do then ? " 
 
 " Said what you said ; that he had seen women 
 who would be called handsomer." 
 
 The conversation dropped here, for Lois made no 
 reply, and Madge recollected she had talked enough
 
 CHA1TEK XL- 
 ATTENTIONS. 
 
 IT was days before Lois went down stairs. She 
 seemed indeed to be in no hurry. Her room was 
 luxuriously comfortable; Madge tended her there, 
 and Mrs. Wishart visited her; and Lois sat in her 
 great easy chair, and rested, and devoured the del- 
 icate meals that were brought her; and the colour 
 began gently to come back to her face, in the im- 
 perceptible fashion in which a white Van Thol tu- 
 lip takes on its hues of crimson. She began to read 
 a little; but she did not care to go down stairs. 
 Madge told her everything that went on ; who came, 
 and what was said by one and another. Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn's name was of very frequent occurrence. 
 
 " He's a real nice man ! " said Madge enthusi- 
 astically. 
 
 " Madge, Madge, Madge! you mustn't speak so," 
 said Lois. "You must not say 'real nice'." 
 
 " I don't, down stairs," said Madge laughing. 
 " It was only to you. It is more expressive, Lois, 
 sometimes, to speak wrong than to speak right." 
 '546)
 
 ATTENTIONS. 547 
 
 " Do not speak so expressively, then 
 
 "But I must, when I am speaking of Mr. 
 Dillwyn. I never saw anybody so nice. He is 
 teaching me to play chess, Lois, and it is such 
 fun." 
 
 " It seems to me he comes here very often." 
 
 " he does ; he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart's 
 and she is as glad to see him as I am." 
 
 " Don't be too glad, Madge. I do not like to hear 
 you speak so." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It was one of the reasons why I did not want to 
 accept Mrs. Barclay's invitation last winter, that I 
 knew he would be visiting her constantly. I did 
 not expect to see him here much." Lois looked 
 grave. 
 
 "What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't 
 one have the pleasure? For it is a pleasure; his 
 talk is so bright, and his manner is so very kind 
 and graceful ; and lie is so kind. He is going to 
 take me to drive again." 
 
 "You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that 
 enough?" 
 
 " It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said laugh- 
 ing again. "Mr. Dillwyn talks, something one 
 likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tells me about 
 old families, and where they used to live, and where 
 they live now; what do I care about old New York 
 families ! And Mr. Dillwyn lets me talk. I never 
 have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart ; she 
 does it all."
 
 548 NOBODY. 
 
 " I would rather have you go driving with her, 
 though." 
 
 "Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go 
 with Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 " Don't like it too well." 
 
 "How can I like it too well?" 
 
 " So much that you would miss it, when you do 
 not have it any longer." 
 
 " Miss it !" said Madge half angrily. "I might 
 miss it, as I might miss any pleasant thing; but I 
 could stand that. I'm not a chicken just out of the 
 egg. I have missed things before now, and it 
 hasn't killed me." 
 
 "Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a 
 question of how much you can stand. But the men 
 like like this one, are so pleasant with their 
 graceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you 
 and me might easily be drawn on, without knowing 
 it, further than they want to go." 
 
 "He does not want to draw anybody on!" said 
 Madge indignantly. 
 
 " That's the very thing. You might think or I 
 might think that pleasant manner means some- 
 thing; and it don't mean anything." 
 
 " I don't want it to ' mean anything,' as you say ; 
 but what has our being country girls to do with 
 it?" 
 
 " We are not accustomed to that sort of society 
 and so it makes, I suppose, more impression. And 
 what might mean something to others, would not 
 to us. From such men, I mean."
 
 ATTENTIONS. 549 
 
 " What do you mean by ' such men ' ? " asked 
 Madge, who was getting rather excited. 
 
 "Rich fashionable belonging to the great 
 world, and having the ways of it. You know what 
 Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have in 
 Shampuashuh." 
 
 "But Lois! what are you talking about? I 
 don't care a red cent for all this, but I want to un- 
 derstand. You said such a manner would mean 
 nothing to us." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why not to us, as well as anybody else?" 
 
 " Because we are nobodies, Madge." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said the other hotly. 
 
 "Just that. It is quite true. You are nobody, 
 and I am nobody. You see, if we were somebody, 
 it would be different." 
 
 ' : If you think I'll tell you what, Lois ! I think 
 you are fit to be the wife of the best man that lives 
 and breathes." 
 
 " I think so myself," Lois returned quietly. 
 
 " And I am." 
 
 " I think you are, Madge. But that makes no 
 difference. My dear, we are nobody." 
 
 " How ? " impatiently. " Isn't our family as re- 
 spectable as anybody's? Haven't we had gover- 
 nors and governors, of Massachusetts and Con- 
 necticut both ; and judges, and ministers, ever so 
 many, among our ancestors? And didn't a half 
 dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the May- 
 flower?"
 
 550 NOBODY. 
 
 "Yes, Madge; all true; and I ana as glad of it as 
 you are." 
 
 " Then you talk nonsense ! " 
 
 "No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I 
 have seen a little more of the world than you 
 have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but 
 a little more than you; and I know what I am 
 talking about. We are unknown, we are not rich, 
 we have none of what they call ' connections.' So 
 you see I do not want you to like too much a per- 
 son who, beyond civility, and kindness perhaps, 
 would never think of liking you." 
 
 " I don't want him to, that's one thing," said 
 Madge. " But if all that is true, he is meaner than 
 I think him ; that's what I've got to say. And it 
 is a mean state of society where all that can be 
 true." 
 
 " I suppose it is human nature," said Lois. 
 
 " It's awfully mean human nature ! " 
 
 " I guess there is not much true nobleness but 
 where the religion of Christ comes in. If you have 
 got that, Madge, be content and thankful." 
 
 " But nobody likes to be unjustly depreciated." 
 
 "Isn't that pride?" 
 
 "One must have some pride. I can't make re- 
 ligion everything, Lois. I was a woman before I 
 was a Christian." 
 
 " If you want to be a happy woman, you will let 
 religion be everything." 
 
 "But Lois! wouldn't you like to be rich, and 
 have pretty things about you ? "
 
 ATTENTIONS. 551 
 
 "Don't ask me," said Lois smiling. "I am a wo- 
 man too, and dearly fond of pretty things. But 
 Madge, there is something else I love better," she 
 added with a sudden sweet gravity ; " and that is, 
 the will of my God. I would rather have what he 
 chooses to give me. Really and truly; I would 
 rather have that." 
 
 The conversation therewith was at an end. In 
 the evening of that same day Lois left her seclusion 
 and came down stairs for the first time. She was 
 languid enough yet to be obliged to move slowly, 
 and her cheeks had not got back their full colour 
 and were thinner than they used to be; otherwise 
 she looked well, and Mrs. Wishart contemplated 
 her with great satisfaction. Some what 'to Lois's 
 vexation, or she thought so, they found Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn down stairs also. Lois had the invalid's place 
 of honour, in a corner of the sofa, with a little table 
 di-awn up for her separate tea; and Madge and 
 Mr. Dillwyn made toast for her at the fire. The 
 fire gave its warm shine, the lamps glittered with 
 a more brilliant illumination ; ruddy hues of tapes- 
 try and white gleams from silver and glass filled 
 the room, with lights and shadows everywhere, 
 that contented the eye and the imagination too, 
 with suggestions of luxury and plenty and shel- 
 tered comfort. Lois felt the shelter and the com- 
 fort and the pleasure, with that enhanced intensity 
 which belongs to one's sensations in a state of con- 
 valescence, and in her case was heightened by pre- 
 vious experiences. Nestled among cushions in hei
 
 552 NOBODY. 
 
 corner, *he watched everything and took the effect 
 of every detail; tasted every flavour of the situa- 
 tion; but all with a thoughtful, wordless gravity; 
 she hardly spoke at all. 
 
 After tea Mr. Dillwyn and Madge sat down to 
 the chess board. And then Lois's attention fas- 
 tened upon them. Madge had drawn the little 
 table that held the chessmen into very close prox- 
 imity to the sofa, so that she was just at Lois's 
 hand; but then her whole mind was bent upon the 
 game, and Lois could study her as she pleased. 
 She did study Madge. She admired her sister's 
 great beauty; the glossy black hair, the delicate 
 skin, the excellent features, the pretty figure. 
 Madge was very handsome, there was no doubt; 
 Mr. Dillwyn would not have far to look, Lois 
 thought, to find one handsomer than herself was. 
 There was a frank, fine expression of face, too ; and 
 manners thoroughly good. They lacked some of 
 the quietness of long usage, Lois thought; a quick 
 look or movement now and then, or her eager 
 eyes, or an abrupt tone of voice, did in some meas- 
 ure betray the country girl, to whom everything 
 was novel and interesting; and distinguished her 
 from the half blase, wholly indifferent air of other 
 people. She will learn that quietness soon enough, 
 thought Lois; and then, nothing could be left to de- 
 sire in Madge. The quietness had always been a 
 characteristic of Lois herself; partly difference of 
 temperament, partly the sweeter poise of Lois's 
 mind, had made this difference between the sisters;
 
 ATTENTIONS. 553 
 
 and now of course Lois had had more experience 
 of people and the world. But it was not in her 
 the result of experience, this fair, unshaken bal- 
 ance of mind and manner which was always a 
 charm in her. However, this by the way ; the girl 
 herself was drawing; no comparisons, except so far 
 as to judge her sister handsomer than herself. 
 
 From Madge her eye strayed to Mr. Dillwyn, and 
 studied him. She was lying back a little in shad- 
 ow, and could do it safely. He was teaching Madge 
 the game; and Lois could not but acknowledge and 
 admire in him the finished manner she missed in 
 her sister. Yes, she could not help admiring it. 
 The gentle, graceful, easy way, in which he directed 
 her, gave reproofs and suggestions about the game, 
 and at the same time kept up a running conver- 
 sation with Mrs. Wishart; letting not one thing 
 interfere with another, nor failing for a moment to 
 attend to both ladies. There was a quiet perfection 
 about the whole home picture; it remained in Lois's 
 memory for ever. Mrs. Wishart sat on an opposite 
 sofa knitting; not a long blue stocking, like her 
 dear grandmother, but a web of wonderful hues, 
 thick and soft, and various as the feathers on a 
 peacock's neck. It harmonized with all the rest 
 of the room, where warmth and colour and a cer- 
 tain fulness of detail gave the impression of long- 
 established easy living. The contrast was very 
 strong with Lois's own life surroundings; she 
 compared and contrasted, and was not quite sure 
 how much of this sort of thing might be good
 
 554 NOBODY. 
 
 for her. However, for the present here she was, 
 and she enjoyed it. Then she queried if Mr. 
 Dillwyn were enjoying it. She noticed the hand 
 which he had run through the locks of his hair, 
 resting his head on the hand. It was well formed, 
 well kept; in that nothing remarkable; but there 
 Was a certain character of energy in the fingers 
 which did not look like the hand of a lazy man. 
 How could he spend his life so in doing nothing ? 
 She did not fancy that he cared much about the 
 game, or much about the talk ; what was he there 
 for, so often ? Did he, possibly, care about Madge ? 
 Lois' s thoughts came back to the conversation. 
 
 " Mrs. Wishavt, what is to be done with the 
 poor of our city ? " Mr. Dillwyn was saying. 
 
 " I don't know ! I wish something could be 
 done with them, to keep them from coming to 
 the house. My cook turns away a dozen a day 
 some days." 
 
 " Those are not the poor I mean." 
 
 "They are poor enough." 
 
 " They are to a large extent pretenders. I mean 
 the masses of solid poverty which fill certain parts 
 of the city and not small parts either. It is no 
 pretence there." 
 
 " I thought there were Societies enough to look 
 after them. I know I pay my share to keep up 
 the Societies. What are they doing ? " 
 
 " Something, I suppose. As if a man should 
 carry a watering pot to Vesuvius." 
 
 " What in the world has turned your attention
 
 ATTENTIONS. 555 
 
 that way? I pay my subscriptions, and then J 
 discharge the matter from my mind. It is the 
 business of the Societies. What has set you to 
 thinking about it? " 
 
 " Something I have seen, and something I have 
 heard." 
 
 " What have you heard ? Are you studying 
 political economy? I did not know you studied 
 anything but art-criticism." 
 
 "What do you do with your poor at Shampu- 
 ashuh, Miss Madge ? " 
 
 "We do not have any poor. That is, hardly 
 any. There is nobody in the poor house. A few 
 perhaps half a dozen people, cannot quite support 
 themselves? Check to your queen, Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 " What do you do with them ? " 
 
 " 0, take care of them. It's very simple. They 
 understand, that whenever they are in absolute 
 need of it, they can go to the store and get what 
 they want." 
 
 " At whose expense ? " 
 
 "0 there is a fund there for them. Some ot 
 the better-off people take care of that." 
 
 " I should think that would be quite too simple," 
 said Mrs. Wishart, " and extremely liable to abuse." 
 
 " It is never abused, though. Some of the peo- 
 ple, those poor ones, will come as near as possible 
 to starving before they will apply for anything." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart remarked that Shampuashuh was 
 altogether unlike all other places she ever had 
 heard of.
 
 556 NOBODY. 
 
 "Things at Shampuashuh are as they ought 
 to be," Mr. Dillwyn said. 
 
 "Now Mr. Dillwyn," cried Madge, "I will for- 
 give you for taking my queen, if you will answer 
 a question for me. What is ' art-criticism ' ?" 
 
 4< Why Madge, you know ! " said Lois from her 
 Bofa corner. 
 
 " I do not admire ignorance so much as to pre- 
 tend to it," Madge rejoined. " What is art-criticism, 
 Mr. Dillwyn ? " 
 
 " What is art ? " 
 
 " That is what I do not know ! " said Madge 
 laughing. " I understand criticism. It is the art 
 that bothers me. I only know that it is something 
 as far from nature as possible." 
 
 " Madge, Madge ! " said Lois again ; and Mr. 
 Dillwyn laughed a little. 
 
 " On the contrary, Miss Madge. Your learning 
 must be unlearnt. Art is really so near to nature 
 Check! that it consists in giving again the 
 facts and effects of nature in human language." 
 
 " Human language? That is, letters and words?' 
 
 "Those are the symbols of one language." 
 
 " What other is there ? " 
 
 "Music painting architecture 1 am afraid, 
 
 Miss Madge, that is check-mate?" 
 
 " You said you had seen and heard something, 
 Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Wishart now began. " Do tell 
 us what. I have neither seen nor heard anything ; 
 in an age." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn was setting the chessmen again.
 
 ATTENTIONS. 557 
 
 ' What I saw," he said, " was a silk neck tie or 
 scarf such as we wear. What I heard, was the 
 price paid for making it." 
 
 " Was there anything remarkable about the 
 scarf?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever ; except the aforesaid price. 
 
 " What was the price paid for making it ? " 
 
 "Two cents." 
 
 " Who told you ? " 
 
 " A friend of mine, who took me in on purpose 
 that I might see and hear, what I have reported." 
 
 " Two cents, did you say ? But that's no price ! " 
 
 " So I thought." 
 
 " How many could a woman make in a day, 
 Madge, of those silk scarfs ? " 
 
 " I don't know I suppose, a dozen." 
 
 " A dozen, I was told, is a fair day's work," Mr. 
 Dillwyn said. "They do more, but it is by work 
 ing on into the night." 
 
 " Good patience ! Twenty-five cents for a hard 
 day's work!" said Mrs. Wishart. "A dollar and 
 a half a week ! Where is bread to come from, to 
 keep them alive to do it ? " 
 
 " Better die at once, I should say," echoed Madge. 
 
 " Many a one would be glad of that alternative, 
 I doubt not," Mr. Dillwyn went on. " But there 
 is perhaps an old mother to be taken care of, or 
 a child or two to feed and bring up." 
 
 " Don't talk about it ! " said Mrs. Wishart. " It 
 makes me feel blue." 
 
 " I must risk that. I want you to think about
 
 j58 NOBODY. 
 
 it. Where is help to come from? These are the 
 people I was thinking of, when I asked you what 
 was to be done with our poor." 
 
 " I don't know why you ask me. 7 can do noth- 
 ing. It is not my business." 
 
 *' Will it do to assume that as quite certain?" 
 
 " Why yes. What can I do with a set of master 
 tailors ! " 
 
 "You can cry down the cheap shops; and say 
 why." 
 
 u Are the dear shops any better ? " 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn laughed. " Presumably ! But talk- 
 ing, even your talking, will not do all. I want 
 you to think about it." 
 
 " I don't want to think about it," answered the 
 lady. " It's beyond me. Poverty is people's own 
 fault. Industrious and honest people can always 
 get along." 
 
 " If sickness does not set in, or some father or 
 husband or son does not take to bad ways." 
 
 " How can I help all that?" asked the lady some- 
 what pettishly. " I never knew you were in the 
 benevolent and reformatory line before, Mr. Dil- 
 lwyn. What has put all this in your head?" 
 
 "Those scarfs, for one thing. Another thing 
 was a visit I had lately occasion to make. It 
 was near midday. I found a room as bare as a 
 room could be, of all that we call comfort; in 
 the floor a small pine table set with three plates, 
 bread, cold herrings and cheese. That was the din 
 ner for a little boy, whom I found setting the table,
 
 ATTENTIONS. 
 
 and hig father and mother. The parents work in 
 a factory hard by, from early to late; they have 
 had sickness in the family this autumn, and are 
 too poor to afford a fire to eat their dinner by, 
 or to make it warm; so the other child, a little 
 girl, has been sent away for the winter. It was 
 frostily cold the day I was there. The boy goes 
 to school in the afternoon, and comes home in 
 time to light up a fire for his father and mother 
 to warm themselves by at evening. And the mo- 
 ther has all her housework to do after she comes 
 home." 
 
 "That's better than the other case," said Mrs. 
 Wishart. 
 
 " But what could be done, Mr. Dillwyn ? " said 
 Lois from her corner. " It seems as if something 
 was wrong. But how could it be mended." 
 
 " I want Mrs. Wishart to consider of that." 
 
 "I can't consider it!" said the lady. "I suppose 
 it is intended that there should be poor people al- 
 ways, to give us something to do." 
 
 "Then let us do it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I am not certain ; but I make a suggestion. 
 Suppose all the ladies of this city devoted their 
 diamonds to this purpose. Then any number of 
 dwelling houses could be put up; separate, but 
 so arranged as to be warmed by steam from a 
 general centre, at a merely nominal cost for each 
 one; well ventilated and comfortable; so putting 
 an end to the enormity of tenement houses. Theu
 
 560 NOBODY. 
 
 a commission might be established to look after 
 the rights of the poor; to see that they got proper 
 wages, were not cheated, and that all should have 
 work who wanted it. So much might be done." 
 
 " With no end of money." 
 
 " I proposed to take the diamonds of the city, 
 you know." 
 
 " And why just the diamonds ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Wishart. " Why don't you speak of some of the 
 indulgences of the men ? Take the horses or the 
 wines " 
 
 " I am speaking to a lady," said Dillwyn smiling. 
 ' When I have a man to apply to, I will make my 
 application accordingly." 
 
 " Ask him for his tobacco," said Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 "Certainly for his tobacco. There is as much 
 money spent in this city for tobacco as there is 
 for bread." 
 
 Madge exclaimed, in incredulous astonishment; 
 and Lois asked if the diamonds of the city would 
 amount to very much ? 
 
 " Yes, Miss Lois. American ladies are very fond 
 of diamonds; and it is a common thing for one of 
 them to have from ten thousand to twenty thousand 
 or thirty thousand dollars' worth of them as part 
 of the adornment of her pretty person at one time." 
 
 "Twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds 
 on at once ? " cried Madge. " I call that wicked ! ' 
 
 "Why?" asked Mr. Dillwyn smiling. 
 
 " There's no wickedness in it," said Mrs. Wishart. 
 "How should it be wicked? You put on a flowers
 
 ATTENTIONS. 561 
 
 and another, who can afford it, puts on a diamond. 
 What's the difference ? " 
 
 "My flower does not cost anybody anything," 
 said Madge. 
 
 " What do my diamonds cost anybody ? " return 
 ed Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 Madge was silent, though not because she had 
 nothing to say; and at this precise moment the 
 door opened and visiters were ushered in.
 
 CHAPTER XIJ. 
 
 CHESS. 
 
 INHERE entered upon the scene, that is, a little 
 lady of very gay and airy manner; whose 
 airiness however was thoroughly well bred. She 
 was accompanied by a tall pleasant looking man, 
 of somewhat dreamy aspect; and they were named 
 to Lois and Madge as Mrs. and Mr. Burrage. To 
 Mr. Dillwyn they were not named; and the greet- 
 ing in that quarter was familiar; the lady giving 
 him a nod, and the gentleman an easy " Good 
 evening." The lady's attention came round to 
 him again as soon as she was seated. 
 
 " Why Philip, I did not expect to find you. 
 What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I was making toast a little while ago." 
 
 " I did not know that was one of your accom- 
 plishments." 
 
 " They said I did it well. I have picked up a 
 good deal of cooking in the course of my travels." 
 
 " In what part of the world did you learn to 
 make toast?" asked the lady, while a pair of lively 
 
 eyes seemed to take note rapidly of all that was 
 (562)
 
 CHESS. 563 
 
 in the room; rapidly but carefully, Lois thought. 
 She was glad she herself was hidden in the shad- 
 owy sofa corner. 
 
 "I believe that is always learned in a cold 
 country, where people have fire," Mr. Dillwyn an- 
 swered the question. 
 
 "These people who travel all over get to be 
 insufferable ! " the little lady went on, turning to 
 Mrs. Wishart; "they think they know everything; 
 and they are not a bit wiser than the rest of us. 
 You were not at the De Large's luncheon, what a 
 pity! I know; your cold shut you up. You must 
 take care of that cold. Well, you lost something. 
 This is the seventh entertainment that has been 
 given to that English party; and every one of them 
 has exceeded the others. There is nothing left 
 for the eighth. Nobody will dare give an eighth. 
 One is fairly tired with the struggle of magni- 
 ficence. It's the battle of the giants over again, 
 with a difference." 
 
 " It is not a battle with attempt to destroy," said 
 her husband. 
 
 "Yes it is to destroy competition. I have been 
 at every one of the seven but one and I am abso- 
 lutely tired with splendour. But there is really 
 nothing left for any one else to do. I don't see 
 how one is to go any further without the lamp 
 of Aladdin." 
 
 " A return to simplicity would be grateful," re- 
 marked Mrs. Wishart. " And as new as anything 
 else could be."
 
 564 NOBODY. 
 
 " Simplicity ! my dear Mrs. Wishart ! don t 
 talk of simplicity. We don't want simplicity. 
 We have got past that. Simplicity is the dream 
 of children and country folks; and it means, eat- 
 ing your meat with your fingers." 
 
 "It's the sweetest way of all," said Dillwyn. 
 
 " Where did you discover that ? It must have 
 been among savages. Children country folks 
 and savages, I ought to have said." 
 
 " Orientals are not savages. On the contrary, 
 very far exceeding in politeness any western na- 
 tion I know of." 
 
 " You would set a table, then, with napkins and 
 fingers ! Or are the napkins not essential ? " 
 
 " C'est selon," said Dillwyn. " In a strawberry 
 bed, or under a cherry tree, I should vote them 
 a nuisance. At an Asiatic grandee's table you 
 would have them embroidered and perfumed; and 
 one for your lap and another for your lips." 
 
 " Evidently they are long past the stage of sim- 
 plicity. Talking of napkins we had them em- 
 broidered and exquisitely; Japanese work; at 
 the De Large's. Mine had a peacock in one cor- 
 ner ; or I don't know if it was a peacock ; it was 
 a gay-feathered bird " 
 
 "A peacock has a tail " suggested Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 " Well, I don't know whether it had a tail, but 
 it was most exquisite; in blue and red and gold; I 
 never saw anything prettier. And at every plate 
 were such exquisite gifts! really elegant, you 
 know. Flowers are all very well; but when it
 
 CHESS. 565 
 
 comes to jewellery, I think it is a little beyond 
 good taste. Everybody can't do it, you know; 
 and it is rather embarrassing to nous autres." 
 
 " Simplicity has its advantages," observed Mr. 
 Dillwyn. 
 
 "Nonsense, Philip! You are as artificial a man 
 as any one I know." 
 
 "In what sense?" asked Mr. Dillwyn calmly. 
 "You are bound to explain, for the sake of my 
 character, that I do not wear false heels to my 
 boots." 
 
 " Don't be ridiculoTis ! You have no need to 
 wear false heels. Art need not be/afce, need it?" 
 
 "True art never is," said Mr. Dillwyn, amid 
 some laughter. 
 
 "Well, artifice, then?" 
 
 " Artifice, I am afraid, is of another family, and 
 not allied to truth." 
 
 "Well, everybody that knows you knows you 
 are true ; but they know too that if ever there was 
 a fastidious man, it is you; and a man that wants 
 everything at its last pitch of refinement." 
 
 " Which desirable stage I should say the luncheon 
 you were describing had not reached." 
 
 "You don't know. I had not told you the half. 
 Fancy ! the ice floated in our glasses in the form 
 of pond lilies; as pretty as possible, with broad 
 leaves and buds." 
 
 "How did they get it in such shapes?" asked 
 Madge, with her eyes a trifle wider open than was 
 usual with them.
 
 566 NOBODY. 
 
 "Oh, froze it in moulds of course. But you 
 might have fancied the fairies had carved it. 
 Then, Mrs. Wishart, there was an arrangement 
 of glasses over the gas burners, which produced 
 the most silver sounds of music you ever heard; 
 no chime, you know, of course; but a most pecu- 
 liar, sweet, mysterious succession of musical breath- 
 ings. Add to that, by means of some invisible 
 vaporizers, the whole air was filled with sweetness; 
 now it was orange flowers, and now it was roses, 
 and then again it would be heliotrope or violets; 
 I never saw anything so refined and so exquisite 
 in my life. Waves of sweetness, rising and fall- 
 ing, coming and going, and changing; it was 
 perfect." 
 
 The little lady delivered herself of this descrip- 
 tion with much animation, accompanying the lat- 
 ter part of it with a soft waving of her hand ; which 
 altogether overcame Philip's gravity, and he burst 
 into a laugh, in which Mr. Burrage presently joined 
 him ; and Lois and Madge found it impossible not 
 to follow." 
 
 " What's the matter, Philip ? " the lady asked. 
 
 " I am reminded of an old gentleman I once saw 
 at Gratz; he was copying the Madonna della Seg- 
 gia in a mosaic made with the different coloured 
 wax heads of matches." 
 
 " He must have been out of his head." 
 
 "That was the conclusion I came to." 
 
 " Pray what brought him to your remembrance 
 just then ? "
 
 CHESS. 567 
 
 " I was thinking of the different ways people 
 take in the search after happiness." 
 
 " And one worth as much as another, I suppose 
 you mean ? That is a matter of taste. Mrs. Wish- 
 art, I see your happiness is cared for, in having such 
 charming friends with you. by the way! talk- 
 ing of seeing, have you seen Dulles & Grant's 
 new Persian rugs and carpets ? " 
 
 " I have been hardly anywhere. I wanted to 
 take Madge to see Brett's collection of paintings; 
 but I have been unequal to any exertion." 
 
 " Well, the first time you go anywhere, go to 
 Dulles & Grant's. Take her to see those. Pic- 
 tures are common ; but these Turkish rugs and 
 things are not. They are the most exquisite, the 
 most odd, the most delicious things you ever saw. 
 I have been wanting to ruin myself with them ever 
 since I saw them. It's high Art, really. Those 
 Orientals are wonderful people ! There is one rug 
 it is as large as this floor, nearly, well, it is 
 covered with medallions in old gold, set in a wild 
 irregular design of all sorts of Cashmere shawl 
 colours thrown about anyhow; and yet the effect 
 is rich beyond description; simple, too. Another, 
 that is very rare; it is a rare Keelum carpet; 
 let me see if I can describe it. The ground is a 
 full, bright red. Over this run palm leaves and 
 little bits of ruby and maroon and gold mosaic; and 
 between the palm leaves come great ovals of olive 
 mixed with black, blue, and yellow; shading off into 
 them. I mvcr saw anything I wanted so much."
 
 568 NOBODY. 
 
 " What price ? " 
 
 "0 they are all prices. The Keelum carpet is 
 only fifteen hundred but my husband says it is 
 too much. Then another Persian carpet has a cen 
 tre of red and white. Round this a border of palm 
 leaves. Round these another border of deliciously 
 mixed up warm colours ; warm and rich. Then an 
 other border of palms; and then the rest of the 
 carpet is in blended shades of dark dull red and 
 pink, with olive flowers thrown over it. I 
 can't tell you the half. You must go and see. 
 They have immensely wide borders, all of them; 
 and great, thick, soft piles." 
 
 " Have you been to Brett's Collection ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What is there?" 
 
 "The usual thing. but I haven't told you 
 what I have come here for to-night." 
 
 " I thought it was, to see me." 
 
 " Yes, but not for pleasure, this time," said the 
 lively lady laughing. " I had business I really 
 do have business sometimes. I came this evening, 
 because I wanted to see you when I could have a 
 chance to explain myself. Mrs. Wishart, I want 
 you to take my place. They have made me first 
 directress of the Forlorn Children's Home." 
 
 " Does the epithet apply to the place ? or to the 
 children ? " Mr. Dillwyn asked. 
 
 " Now I cannot undertake the office," Mrs. Bur- 
 rage went on without heeding him. " My hands 
 are as full as they can hold, and my head fuller.
 
 CHESS. 569 
 
 You must take it, Mrs. Wishart. You are just the 
 person." 
 
 "I?" said Mrs. Wishart with no delighted ex- 
 pression. " What are the duties ? " 
 
 "O, just oversight, you know; keeping things 
 straight. Everybody needs to be kept up to the 
 mark. I cannot, for our Reading Club meets just 
 at the time when I ought to be up at the Home." 
 
 The ladies went into a closer discussion of the 
 subject in its various bearings; and Mr. Dillwyn 
 and Madge returned to their chess play. Lois lay 
 watching and thinking. Mr. Burrage looked on 
 at the chessboard, and made remarks on the game 
 languidly. By and by the talk of the two ladies 
 ceased, and the head of Mrs. Burrage came round, 
 and she also studied the chess players. Her face 
 was observant and critical, Lois thought; oddly 
 observant and thoughtful. 
 
 "Where did you get such charming friends to 
 stay with you, Mrs. Wishart? You are to be 
 envied." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart explained, how Lois had been ill, 
 and had come to get well under her care. 
 
 "You must bring them to see me. Will you? 
 Are they fond of music ? Bring them to my next 
 musical evening." 
 
 And then she rose ; but before taking leave she 
 tripped across to Lois's couch and came and stood 
 quite close to her, looking at her for a moment in 
 what seemed to the girl rather an odd silence. 
 
 " You aren't equal to playing chess yet ?" was her
 
 570 NOBODY. 
 
 equally odd abrupt question. Lois's smile shewed 
 some amusement. 
 
 " My brother is such an idle fellow, he has got 
 nothing better to do than to amuse sick people, 
 it's charity to employ him. And when you are 
 able to come out, if you'll come to me, you shall 
 hear some good music. Good bye ! " 
 
 Her brother ! thought Lois as she went off. Mr. 
 Dillwyn her brother ! I don't believe she likes 
 Madge and me to know him. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey Burrage drove 
 away in silence for a few minutes; then the lady 
 broke out. 
 
 "There's mischief there, Chauncey!" 
 
 "What mischief?" the gentleman asked inno- 
 cently. 
 
 " Those girls." 
 
 "Very handsome girls. At least the one that 
 was visible." 
 
 "The other's worse. I saw her. The one you 
 saw is handsome; but the other is peculiar. She is 
 rare. Maybe not just so handsome, but more re- 
 fined ; and peculiar. I don't know just what it is in 
 her; but she fascinated me. Masses of auburn hair 
 not just auburn more of a golden touch to the 
 brown with a gold reflet, you know, that is so 
 lovely ; and a face" 
 
 " Well, what sort of a face ? " asked Mr. Burrage, 
 as his spouse paused. 
 
 " Something between a baby and an angel, and 
 yet with a sort of sybil look of wisdom. I believe
 
 CHESS. 571 
 
 she put one of Domenichino's sybils into my head; 
 there's that kind of complexion " 
 
 " My dear," said the gentleman laughing, " you 
 could not tell what complexion she was of. She 
 was in a shady corner." 
 
 " I was quite near her. Now that sort of thing 
 might just catch Philip." 
 
 " Well," said the gentleman, " you cannot help 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know if I can or no ! " 
 
 " Why should you want to help it, after all ? " 
 
 " Why ? I don't want Philip to make a mis- 
 match." 
 
 " Why should it be a mis-match ? " 
 
 " Philip has got too much money to marry a girl 
 with nothing." 
 
 Mr. Burrage laughed. His wife demanded to 
 know what he was laughing at? and he said "the 
 logic of her arithmetic." 
 
 " You men have no more logic in action, than we 
 women have in speculation. I am logical the other 
 way." 
 
 " That is too involved for me to follow. But it 
 occurs to me to ask, why should there be any match 
 in the case here ? " 
 
 "That's so like a man! Why shouldn't there? 
 Take a man like my brother, who don't know what 
 to do with himself; a man whose eye and ear are 
 refined till he judges everything according to a 
 standard of beauty; and give him a girl like that 
 to look at! T said she reminded me of one of
 
 572 NOBODY. 
 
 Domenichino's sybils but it isn't that. I'll tell 
 you what it is. She is like one of Fra Angelico's 
 angels. Fancy Philip set down opposite to one of 
 Fra Angelico's angels in flesh and blood! " 
 
 " Can a man do better than marry an angel ? " 
 
 " Yes ! so long as he is not an angel himself, and 
 don't live in Paradise." 
 
 " They do not marry in Paradise," said Mr. Bur- 
 rage dryly. " But why a fellow may not get as 
 near a Paradisaical condition as he can, with the 
 drawback of marriage, and in this mundane sphere, 
 I do not see." 
 
 " Men never see anything till afterwards. I don't 
 know anything about this girl, Chauncey, except 
 her face. But it is just the way with men, to fall 
 in love with a face. I do not know what she is, 
 only she is nobody; and Philip ought to marry 
 somebody. I know where they are from. She has 
 no money, and she has no family; she has of course 
 no breeding; she has probably no education, to fit 
 her for being his wife. Philip ought to have the 
 very reverse of all that. Or else he ought not to 
 marry at all, and let his money come to little Phil 
 Chauncey." 
 
 " What are you going to do about it?" asked the 
 gentleman, seeming amused. 
 
 But Mrs. Burrage made no answer, and the rest 
 of the drive, long as it was, was rather stupid.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 RULES. 
 
 next day Mr. Dillwyn came to take Madge 
 1 to see Brett's collection of paintings. Mrs. 
 Wishart declared herself not yet up to it. Madge 
 came home in a great state of delight. 
 
 "It was so nice!" she explained to her sister; 
 "just as nice as it could be. Mr. Dillwyn was 
 so pleasant; and told me everything and about 
 everything; about the pictures, and the masters; 
 I shouldn't have known what anything meant, 
 but he explained it all. And it was such fun to 
 see the people." 
 
 " The people ! " said Lois. 
 
 " Yes. There were a great many people ; almost 
 a crowd; and it did amuse me to watch them." 
 
 "I thought you went to see the paintings." 
 
 "Well, I saw the paintings; and I heard more 
 about them than I can ever remember." 
 
 " What was there ? " 
 
 "01 can't tell you. Landscapes and landscapes; 
 
 and then Holy Families; and saints in misery, of 
 
 (573)
 
 574 NOBODY. 
 
 one sort or another; and battle pieces, but those 
 were such confusion that all I could make out was 
 horses on their hind legs; and portraits. I think 
 it is nonsense for people to try to paint battles; 
 they can't do it; and besides, as far as the fighting 
 goes, one fight is just like another. Mr. Dillwyn 
 told me of a travelling showman, in Germany, who 
 travelled about with the panorama of a battle; and 
 every year he gave it a new name, the name of 
 the last battle that was in men's mouths; and all 
 he had to do was to change the uniforms, he said. 
 He had a pot of green paint for the Prussians, and 
 red for the English, and blue I believe for the French, 
 and so on; and it did just as well." 
 
 " What did you see that you liked best ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. It was a little picture of kittens, 
 in and out of a basket. Mr. Dillwyn didn't care 
 about it; but I thought it was the prettiest thing 
 there. Mrs. Burrage was there." 
 
 " Was she ! " 
 
 "And Mr. Dillwyn does know more than ever 
 anybody else in the world, I think. he was so 
 nice, Lois! so nice and kind. I wouldn't have given 
 a pin to be there, if it hadn't been for him. He 
 wouldn't let me get tired; and he made everything 
 amusing; and 0, I could have sat there till now 
 and watched the people." 
 
 "The people! If the pictures were good, I don't 
 see how you could have eyes for the people." 
 
 " ' The proper study of mankind is man,' my 
 dear; and I like them alive better than painted.
 
 RULES. i)7i> 
 
 It was fun to see the dresses; and then the ways. 
 How some people tried to be interested " 
 
 " Like you." 
 
 "What do you mean? I was interested; and 
 some talked and flirted, and some stared. I 
 watched every new set that came in. Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn says he will come and take us to the Phil- 
 harmonic, as soon as the performances begin." 
 
 " Madge, it is better for us to go with Mrs. 
 Wishart." 
 
 " She may go too, if she likes." 
 
 " And it is better for us not to go with Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn, more than we can help." 
 
 " I won't," said Madge. " I can't help going 
 with him whenever he asks me, and I am not 
 going any other time." 
 
 " What did Mrs. Burrage say to you ? " 
 
 "Hm! Not much. I caught her looking at 
 me, more than once. She said she would have 
 a musical party next week, and we must come; 
 and she asked if you would be well enough." 
 
 " I hope I shall not." 
 
 " That's nonsense. Mr. Dillwyn wants us to go, 
 I know." 
 
 "That is not a reason for going." 
 
 " I think it is. He is just as good as he can be, 
 and I like him more than anybody else I ever saw 
 in my life. I'd like to see the thing he'd ask me, 
 that I wouldn't do." 
 
 " Madge, Madge ! " 
 
 "Hush, Lois; that's nonsense."
 
 376 NOBODY. 
 
 " Madge you trouble me very much." 
 
 "And that's nonsense too." 
 
 Madge was beginning to get over the first sense 
 of novelty and strangeness in all about her; and 
 as she overcame that, a feeling of delight replaced 
 it, and grew and grew. Madge was revelling in 
 enjoyment. She went out with Mrs. Wishart, for 
 drives in the Park and for shopping expeditions 
 in the city, and once or twice to make visits. She 
 went out with Mr. Dillwyn too, as we have seen, 
 who took her to drive, and conducted her to gal- 
 leries of pictures and museums of curiosities; and 
 finally, and with Mrs. Wishart, to a Philharmonic 
 rehearsal. Madge came home in a great state of 
 exultation; though Lois was almost indignant to 
 find that the place and the people had rivalled the 
 performance in producing it. Lois herself was al- 
 most well enough to go, though delicate enough 
 still to allow her the choice of staying at home. 
 She was looking like herself again; yet a little 
 paler in colour and more deliberate in action than 
 her old wont; both the tokens of a want of strength 
 which continued to be very manifest. One day 
 Madge came home from going with Mrs. Wishart 
 to Dulles & Grant's. I may remark that the even- 
 ing at Mrs. Burrage's had not yet come off", owing 
 to a great storm the night of the music party; but 
 another was looming up in the distance. 
 
 " Lois," Madge delivered herself as she was tak- 
 ing off her wrappings, "it is a great thing to be 
 rich!"
 
 RULES. 577 
 
 "One needs to be sick to know how true that 
 is," responded Lois. " If you could guess what I 
 would have given last summer and fall for a few 
 crumbs of the comfort with which this house is 
 stacked full like hay in a barn ! " 
 
 " But I am not thinking of comfort." 
 
 " I am. How I wanted everything for the sick 
 people at Esterbrooke. Think of not being able 
 to change their bed linen properly, nor anything 
 like properly ! " 
 
 "Of course," said Madge, "poor people do not 
 have plenty of things. But I was not thinking of 
 comfort, when I spoke." 
 
 " Comfort is the best thing." 
 
 "Don't you like pretty things?" 
 
 "Too well, I am afraid." 
 
 " You cannot like them too well. Pretty things 
 were meant to be liked. What else were they 
 made for? And of all pretty things 0, those 
 carpets and rugs! Lois, I never saw or dreamed 
 of anything so magnificent I should like to be 
 rich, for once ! " 
 
 "To buy a Persian carpet?" 
 
 "Yes! That and other things. Why not?" 
 
 " Madge, don't you know this was what grand- 
 mother was afraid of, when we were learning to 
 know Mr. Dilhvyn?" 
 
 " What ? " said Madge defiantly. 
 
 "That we would be bewitched or dazzled and 
 lose sight of better things; I think 'bewitched' is 
 the word; all these beautiful things and this lux-
 
 578 NOBODY. 
 
 urious comfort it is bewitching; and so are the 
 fine manners and the cultivation and the delight- 
 ful talk. I confess it. I feel it as much as you do; 
 but this is just what dear grandmother wanted to 
 protect us from." 
 
 "What did she want to protect us from?" re- 
 peated Madge vehemently. "Not Persian carpets, 
 nor luxury; we are not likely to be tempted by 
 either of them in Shampuashuh." 
 
 " We might here" 
 
 " Be tempted ? To what ? I shall hardly be 
 likely to go and buy a fifteen-hundred-dollar car- 
 pet. And it was cheap, at that, Lois ! I can live 
 without it, besides. I haven't got so far that I 
 can't stand on the floor, without any carpet at all, 
 if I must. You needn't think it." 
 
 " I do not think it. Only, do not be tempted to 
 fancy, darling, that there is any way open to you 
 to get such things; that is all." 
 
 " Any way open to me ? You mean, I might 
 marry a rich man, some day ? " 
 
 " You might think you might." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 "Because, dear Madge, you will not be asked. 
 I told you why. And if you were, Madge, you 
 would not, you could not, marry a man that was 
 not a Christian ? Grandmother made me promise 
 I never would." 
 
 " She did not make me promise it. Lois, don't 
 be ridiculous. I don't want to marry anybody at 
 present; but I like Persian carpets, and nothing
 
 RULES. 579 
 
 will make me say I don't. And I like silver and 
 gold; and servants, and silk dresses, and ice cream, 
 and pictures, and big houses, and big mirrors, and 
 all the rest of it." 
 
 "You can find it all in the eighteenth chapter of 
 Revelation, in the description of the city Babylon ; 
 which means the world." 
 
 " I thought Babylon was Rome." 
 
 "Read for yourself." 
 
 I think Madge did not read it for herself, how- 
 ever; and the days went on after the accustomed 
 fashion, till the one arrived which was fixed for 
 Mrs. Chauncey Burrage's second musical party. 
 The three ladies were all invited. Mrs. Wishart 
 supposed they were all going; but when the day 
 came Lois begged off. She did not feel like going, 
 she said; it would be far pleasanter to her if she 
 could stay at home quietly ; it would be better for 
 her. Mrs. Wishart demurred; the invitation had 
 been very urgent; Mrs. Burrage would be disap- 
 pointed ; and besides, she was a little proud herself 
 of her handsome young relations, and wanted the 
 glory of producing them together. However, Lois 
 was earnest in her wish to be left at home; quietly 
 earnest, which is the more difficult to deal with; 
 and knowing her passionate love for music, Mrs. 
 Wishart decided that it must be her lingering weak- 
 ness and languor which indisposed her for going. 
 Lois was indeed looking well again; but both her 
 friends had noticed that she was not come back to 
 her old lively energy, whether of speaking or do-
 
 580 NOBODY. 
 
 ing. Strength comes back so slowly, they said, 
 after one of those fevers. Yet Madge was not sat- 
 isfied with this reasoning, and pondered, as she and 
 Mrs. Wishart drove away, what else might be the 
 cause of Lois's refusal to go with them. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lois having seen them off and heard 
 the house door close upon them, drew up her chair 
 before the fire and sat down. She was in the back 
 drawing room, the windows of which looked out 
 to the river and the opposite shore; but the shut- 
 ters were closed and the curtains drawn, and only 
 the interior view to be had now. So or any way, 
 Lois loved the place. It was large, - roomy, old- 
 fashioned, with none of the stiffness of new things 
 about it; elegant, with the many tokens of home 
 life, and of a long habit of culture and comfort. 
 In a big chimney a big wood fire was burning 
 quietly; the room was softly warm; a brilliant 
 lamp behind Lois banished even imaginary gloom, 
 and a faint red shine came from the burning hick- 
 ory logs. Only this last illumination fell on Lois's 
 face, and in it Lois's face shewed grave and troubled. 
 She was more like a sybil at this moment, looking 
 into confused earthly things, than like one of Fra 
 Angelico's angels rejoicing in the clear light of 
 heaven. 
 
 Lois pulled her chair nearer, to the fire, and bent 
 down, leaning towards it; not for warmth, for she 
 was not in the least cold ; but for company, or for 
 counsel. Who has not taken counsel of a fire? 
 And Lois was in perplexity, of some sort, and try-
 
 RULES. 581 
 
 ing to think hard and to examine into herself. 
 She half wished she had gone to the party at Mrs. 
 Barrage's. And why had she not gone ? She did 
 not want, she did not think it was best, to meet 
 Mr. Dillwyn there. And why not, seeing that she 
 met him constantly where she was? Well, that 
 she could not help ; this would be voluntary ; put- 
 ting herself in his way, and in his sister's way. 
 Better not, Lois said to herself. But why, better 
 not ? It would surely be a pleasant gathering at 
 Mrs. Burrage's, a pleasant party; her parties always 
 were pleasant, Mrs. Wishart said; there would be 
 none but the best sort of people there, good talking 
 and good music ; Lois would have liked it. What 
 if Mr. Dillwyn were there too? Must she keep 
 out of sight of him ? Why should she -keep out of 
 sight of him? Lois put the question sharply to 
 her conscience. And she found that the answer, 
 if given truly, would be that she fancied Mr. Dil- 
 lwyn liked her sister's society better than her own. 
 But what then ? The blood began to rush over 
 Lois's cheeks and brow and to burn in her pulses. 
 Then, it must be that she herself liked his society 
 liked him yes, a little too well; else, what harm 
 in his preferring Madge? could it be? Lois 
 hid her face in her hands for a while ; greatly dis- 
 turbed; she was very much afraid the case was 
 even so. 
 
 But suppose it so; still what of it? What did it 
 signify, whom Mr. Dillwyn liked ? to Lois he could 
 never be anything. Only a pleasant acquaintance
 
 582 NOBODY. 
 
 He and she were in two different lines of life, lines 
 that never cross. Her promise was passed to her 
 grandmother; she could never marry a man who 
 was not a Christian. Happily Mr. Dillwyn did 
 not want to marry her; no such question was com- 
 ing up for decision. Then what was it to her if 
 he liked Madge ? Something, because it was not 
 liking that would end in anything; it was impos- 
 sible a man in his position and circumstances 
 should choose for a wife one in hers. If he could 
 make such a choice, it would be Madge's duty, as 
 much as it would be her own, to refuse him. 
 Would Madge refuse? Lois believed not. Indeed 
 she thought no one could refuse him, that had not 
 unconquerable reasons of conscience; and Madge, 
 she knew, -did not share those which were so 
 strong in her own mind. Ought Madge to share 
 them ? Was it indeed an absolute command that 
 justified and necessitated the promise made to her 
 grandmother? or was it a less stringent thing, 
 that might possibly be passed over by one not so 
 bound ? Lois's mind was in a turmoil of thoughts 
 most unusual, and most foreign to her nature and 
 habit; thoughts seemed to go round in a whirl. 
 And in the midst of the whirl, there would come 
 before her mind's eye, not now Tom Caruthers' 
 face, but the vision of a pair of pleasant gray eyes 
 at once keen and gentle ; or of a close head of hair 
 with a white hand roving amid the thick locks of 
 it; or the outlines of a figure manly and lithe; or 
 some little thing done with that ease of manner
 
 RULES. 583 
 
 which was so winning. Sometimes she saw them 
 as in Mrs. Wishart's drawing room, and sometimes 
 at the table in the dear old house in Shampuashuh, 
 and sometimes under the drip of an umbrella in a 
 pouring rain, and sometimes in the old school- 
 house Manly and kind, and full of intelligence, 
 filled with knowledge, well-bred, and noble; so 
 Lois thought of him. Yet he was not a Christian, 
 therefore no fit partner for Madge or for any one 
 else who was a Christian. Could that be the abso- 
 lute fact ? Must it be ? Was such the inevitable 
 and universal conclusion ? On what did the logic 
 of it rest? Some words in the Bible bore the 
 brunt of it, she knew; Lois had read them and 
 talked them over with her grandmother; and 
 now an irresistible desire took possession of her to 
 read them again, and more critically. She jumped 
 up and ran up stairs for her Bible. 
 
 The fire was down, in her own room; the gas 
 was not lit; so she went back to the bright draw- 
 ing room which to-night she had all to herself. 
 She laid her book on the table and opened it, and 
 then was suddenly checked by the question what 
 did all this matter to her, that she should be so 
 fiercely eager about it? Dismay struck her anew. 
 What was any un-Christian man to her, that her 
 heart should beat so at considering possible rela- 
 tions between them ? No such relations were de- 
 sired by any such person ; what ailed Lois even to 
 take up the subject? If Mr. Dillwyn liked either 
 of the sisters particularly, it was Madge. Proba-
 
 584 NOBODY. 
 
 bly his liking, if it existed, was no more than Tom 
 Caruthers', of which Lois thought with great scorn. 
 Still, she argued, did it not concern her to know 
 with certainty what Madge ought to do, in the 
 event of Mr. Dillwyn being not precisely like Tom 
 Caruthers ?
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 ABOUT WORK. 
 
 THE sound of the opening door made her start 
 up. She would not have even a servant sur- 
 prise her so; kneeling on the floor with her face 
 buried in her hands on the table. She started up 
 hurriedly ; and then was confounded to see entering 
 Mr. Dillwyn himself. She had heard no ring oi 
 the door bell; that must have been when she was 
 up stairs getting her Bible. Lois found her feet, 
 in the midst of a terrible confusion of thoughts; 
 but the very inward confusion admonished her to 
 be outwardly calm. She was not a woman of the 
 world, and she had not had very much experience 
 in the difficult art of hiding her feelings, or acting 
 in any way; nevertheless she was a true woman, 
 and woman's blessed or cursed? instinct of self- 
 command came to her aid. She met Mr. Dillwyn 
 with a face and manner perfectly composed; she 
 knew she did; and cried to herself privately some- 
 thing very like a sea captain's order to his helms- 
 man "Steady! keep her so." Mr. Dillwyn saw
 
 i>86 NOBODY. 
 
 that her face was flushed ; but he saw too that he 
 had disturbed her and startled her; that must be 
 the reason. She looked so far from being de- 
 lighted that he could draw no other conclusion. 
 So they shook hands. She thought he did not 
 look delighted either. Of course, she thought; 
 Madge was not there. And Mr. Dillwyn, what- 
 ever his mood when he came, recognized immedi- 
 ately the decided reserve and coolness of Lois's 
 manner, and, to use another nautical phrase, laid 
 his course accordingly. 
 
 " How do you do, this evening?" 
 
 " I think, quite well. There is nobody at home 
 but me, Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 "So I have been told. But it is a great deal 
 pleasanter here, even with only one third of the 
 family, than it is in my solitary rooms at the 
 hotel." 
 
 At that Lois sat down, and so did he. She 
 could not seem to bid him go away. However 
 she said, 
 
 " Mrs. Wishart has taken Madge to your sister's. 
 It is the night of her music party." 
 
 " Why did not Mrs. Wishart take you ? " 
 
 "I thought it was better for me to stay at 
 home," Lois answered with a little hesitation. 
 
 " You are not afraid of an evening alone ! " 
 
 " No indeed ; how could I be ? Indeed I think 
 in New York it is rather a lirxury." 
 
 Then she wished she had not said that. Would 
 he think she meant to intimate that he was depriv-
 
 ABOUT WORK, o? 
 
 ing her of a luxury? Lois was annoyed at herself; 
 and hurried on to say something else, which she 
 did not intend should be so much in the same line 
 as it proved. Indeed she was shocked the moment 
 she had spoken. 
 
 "Don't you go to your sister's music parties, 
 Mr. Dillwyn?" 
 
 " Not universally." 
 
 " I thought you were so fond of music " Lois 
 said apologetically. 
 
 " Yes," he said smiling. " That keeps me away." 
 
 " I thought," said Lois, " I thought, they said, 
 the music was so good?" 
 
 " I have no doubt they say it. And they mean 
 it honestly." 
 
 "And it is not?" 
 
 " I find it quite too severe a tax on my powers 
 of simulation and dissimulation. Those are powers 
 you never call in play?" he added with a most 
 pleasant smile and glance at her. 
 
 " Simulation and dissimulation ? " repeated Lois, 
 who had by no means got her usual balance of 
 mind or manner yet. "Are those powers which 
 ought to be called into play ? " 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "When, for instance, you are in the mood for 
 a grand theme of Handel, and somebody gives 
 you a sentimental bit of Kossini. Or when Men- 
 delssohn is played as if 'songs without words' were 
 songs without meaning. Or when a singer simply
 
 588 NOBODY. 
 
 displays to you a VOICE, and leaves music out of 
 the question altogether." 
 
 " That is hard ! " said Lois. 
 
 " What is one to do then ? " 
 
 " It is hard," Lois said again. " But I suppose 
 one ought always to be true." 
 
 " If I am true, I must say what I think." 
 
 " Yes. If you speak at all." 
 
 " What will they think then ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lois. " But after all, that is not the 
 first question." 
 
 " What is the first question ? " 
 
 " I think to do right." 
 
 "But what is right? What will people think of 
 me, if I tell them their playing is abominable?" 
 
 "You need not say it just with those words," 
 said Lois. " And perhaps, if anybody told them 
 the truth, they would do better. At any rate, 
 what they think is not the question, Mr. Dilhvyn." 
 
 " What is the question ? " he asked smiling. 
 
 " What the Lord will think." 
 
 " Miss Lois, do you never use dissimulation ? " 
 
 Lois could not help colouring, a little dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 *' I try not," she answered. " I dare say I do, 
 sometimes. I dare not say I do not. It is very 
 difficult for a woman to help it" 
 
 " More difficult for a woman than for a man ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I suppose it is." 
 
 " Why should that be ? " 
 
 ** I do not know unless because she is the weak
 
 ABOUT WORK. 589 
 
 er, and it may be part of the defensive armour of a 
 weak animal." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little. 
 
 "But that is dissimulation," said Lois. "One is 
 not bound always to say all one thinks; only never 
 to say what one does not think." 
 
 "You would always give a true answer to a 
 question ? " 
 
 " I would try." 
 
 " I believe it. And now, Miss Lois, in that 
 trust, I am going to ask you a question. Do you 
 recollect a certain walk in the rain?" 
 
 " Certainly ! " she said, looking at him with some 
 anxiety. 
 
 "And the conversation we held under the um- 
 brella, without simulation or dissimulation?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You tacitly perhaps more than tacitly blamed 
 me for having spent so much of my life in idleness; 
 that is, uselessly, to all but myself." 
 
 "Did I!" 
 
 " You did. And I have thought about it since. 
 And I quite agree with you that to be idle is 
 to be neither wise nor dignified. But here rises 
 a difficulty. I think I would like to be of some 
 use in the world, if I could. But I do not know 
 what to set about." 
 
 Lois waited, with silent attention. 
 
 "My question is this: How is a man to find his 
 work in the world ? " 
 
 Lois's eyes, which had been on his face, went
 
 590 NOBODY. 
 
 away to the fire. His, which had been on the 
 ground, rose to her face. 
 
 " I am in a fog," he said 
 
 "I believe every one has his work," Lois re- 
 marked. 
 
 " I think you said so." 
 
 " The Bible says so, at any rate." 
 
 "Then, how is a man to find his work?" Philip 
 asked, half smiling; at the same time he drew up 
 his chair a little nearer the fire and began to put 
 the same in order. Evidently he was not going 
 away immediately, and had a mind to talk out the 
 subject. But why with her? And was he not go- 
 ing to his sister's ? 
 
 " If each one has, not only his work but his 
 peculiar work, it must be a very important matter 
 to make sure he has found it. A wheel in a ma- 
 chine can do its own work, but it cannot take the 
 part of another wheel. And your words suppose 
 an exact adjustment of parts and powers." 
 "The Bible words, " said Lois. 
 
 "Yes. Well, to my question. I do not know 
 what I ought to do, Miss Lois. I do not see the 
 work to my hand. How am I ever to be any 
 wiser ? " 
 
 " I am the last person you should ask. And be- 
 sides, I do not think anybody knows enough to 
 set anotHkr his appointed task." 
 
 "How is he to find it, then?" 
 
 " He must ask the One who does know." 
 
 " Ask ? Pray, you mean ? "
 
 ABOUT WORK. 591 
 
 "Yes, pray. He must ask to be shewn what lie 
 ought to do, and how to do it. God knows what 
 place he is meant to fill in the world." 
 
 " And if he asks, will he be told ? " 
 
 " Certainly. That is the promise. ' If any of 
 you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth 
 to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall 
 be given him.'" 
 
 Lois's eyes came over to her questioner at the 
 Jast words, as it were, setting a seal to them. 
 
 "How will he get the answer? Suppose, for in- 
 stance, I want wisdom; and I kneel down and 
 pray that I may know my work. I rise from my 
 prayer, there is no voice, nor writing, nor visible 
 sign; how am I the wiser?" 
 
 " You think it will not be given him ? " Lois said 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 " I do not say that. I dare not. But how?" 
 
 " You must not think that, or the asking will be* 
 vain. You must believe the Lord's promise." 
 
 Lois was warming out of her reserve, and possi- 
 bly Mr. Dillwyn had a purpose that she should; 
 though I think he was quite earnest with his ques- 
 tion. But certainly he was watching her, as well 
 as listening to her. 
 
 "Go on," he said. "How will the answer come 
 to me ? " 
 
 " There is another condition, too. You must be 
 quite willing to hear the answer." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Else you jwill be likely to miss it. You know,
 
 592 NOBODY. 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn, you do not know much about house- 
 keeping things, but I suppose you understand, 
 that if you want to weigh anything truly, your 
 balance must hang even." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Well, then, Miss Lois ? " 
 
 "The answer? It comes different ways. But it 
 is sure to come. I think one way is this. You see 
 distinctly one thing you ought to do; it is not life- 
 work, but it is one thing. That is enough for one 
 step. You do that; and then you find that that 
 one step has brought you where you can see a little 
 further, and another step is clear. That will do," 
 Lois concluded smiling; "step by step, you will get 
 where you want to be." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn smiled too, thoughtfully, as it were, 
 to himself. 
 
 " Was it so that you went to teach school at that 
 Imlucky place? what do you call it?" 
 
 " It was not unlucky. Esterbrooke. Yes, I think 
 I went so." 
 
 " Was not that a mistake ? " 
 
 " No, I think not." 
 
 " But your work there was broken up ? " 
 
 " but I expect to go back again." 
 
 " Back ! There ? It is too unhealthy." 
 
 " It will not be unhealthy, when the railroad is 
 finished." 
 
 " I am afraid it will, for some time. And it is 
 too rough a place for you." 
 
 "That is why they want me the more."
 
 ABOUT WORK. 
 
 "Miss Lois, you are not strong enough." 
 
 " I am very strong ! " she answered with a deli- 
 cious smile. 
 
 "But there is such a thing don't you think so? 
 as fitness of means to ends. You would not take 
 a silver spade to break ground with ? " 
 
 " I am not at all a silver spade," said Lois. "But 
 if I were ; suppose I had no other ? " 
 
 " Then surely the breaking ground must be left 
 to a different instrument." 
 
 "That won't do," said Lois, shaking her head. 
 "The instrument cannot choose, you know, where 
 it will be employed. It does not know enough for 
 that." 
 
 " But it made you ill, that work." 
 
 " I am recovering fast." 
 
 "You came to a good place for recovering," said 
 Dillwyn, glancing round the room, and willing per- 
 haps to leave the subject. 
 
 "Almost too good," said Lois. "It spoils one. 
 You cannot imagine the contrast, between what I 
 came from and this. I have been like one in dream- 
 land. And there comes over me now and then a 
 strange feeling of the inequality of things; almost 
 a sense of wrong; the way I am cared for is so very 
 different from the very best and utmost that could 
 be done for the poor people at Esterbrooke. Think 
 of my soups and creams and ices and oranges and 
 grapes ! and there, very often I could not get a 
 bit of fresh beef to make beef tea; and what could I 
 do without beef tea? And what would I not have
 
 594 NOBODY. 
 
 given for an orange sometimes ! I do not mean, 
 for myself. I could get hardly anything the sick 
 people really wanted. And here it is like rain 
 from the clouds." 
 
 " Where does the ' sense of wrong ' come in ? " 
 
 " It seems as if things need not be so unequal." 
 
 " And what does your silver spade expect to do 
 there ? " 
 
 " Don't say that ! I have no silver spade. But 
 just so far as I could help to introduce better ways 
 and a knowledge of better things, the inequality 
 would be made up or on the way to be made 
 up." 
 
 " What refining measures are you thinking of? 
 beside your own presence and example." 
 
 " I was certainly not thinking of that. Why, Mr. 
 Dillwyn, knowledge itself is refining; and then, so 
 is comfort; and I could help them to more comfort, 
 in their houses, and in their meals. I began to teach 
 them singing, which has a great effect; and I car- 
 ried all the pictures I had with me. Most of all, 
 though, to bring them to a knowledge of Bible 
 truth is the principal thing and the surest way. 
 The rest is really in order to- that." 
 
 " Wasn't it very hard work ? " 
 
 "No," said Lois. "Some things were hard; but 
 not the work." 
 
 " Because you like it." 
 
 "Yes. Mr. Dillwyn, there is nothing pleas- 
 anter than to do one's work, if it is work one is 
 sure God has given."
 
 ABOUT WORK. 5i)5 
 
 "That must be because you love Him," said Phil- 
 ip gravely. "Yet I understand, that in the univer- 
 sal adjustment of things, the instrument and its 
 proper work must agree." He was silent a minute, 
 and Lois did not break the pause. If he would 
 think, let him think, was her meaning. Then he 
 began again. 
 
 " There are different ways. What would you thin k 
 of a man who spent his whole life in painting ? " 
 
 "I should not think that could be anybody a 
 proper life-work." 
 
 " I think it was truly his, and he served God in it." 
 
 " Who was he ? " 
 
 "A Catholic monk, in the fifteenth century." 
 
 " What did he paint ? What was his name ? " 
 
 " His name was Fra Angelico by reason of the 
 angelic character which belonged to him and to his 
 paintings; otherwise Fra Giovanni; he was a monk 
 in a Dominican cloister. He entered the convent 
 when he was twenty years old; and from that time, 
 till he was sixty-eight, he served God and his gen- 
 eration by painting." 
 
 Lois looked somewhat incredulous. Mr. Dillwyn 
 here took from one of his pockets a small case, 
 opened it and put it in her hands. It was an ex- 
 cellent copy of a bit of Fra Angelico's work. 
 
 "That," he said as he gave it her, "is the head 
 of one of Fra Angelico's angels, from a group in a 
 large picture. I had this copy made for myself 
 some years ago at a time when I only dimly felt 
 what now I am beginning to understand."
 
 596 NOBODY. 
 
 Lois scarce heard what he said. From the time 
 she received the picture in her hands she lost all 
 thought of everything else. The unearthly beauty 
 and purity, the heavenly devotion and joy, seized 
 her heart as with a spell. The delicate lines of 
 the face, the sweet colouring, the finished, perfect 
 handling, were most admirable; but it was the 
 marvellous spiritual love and purity which so took 
 possession of Lois. Her eyes filled and her cheeks 
 flushed. It was, so far as painting could give it, 
 the truth of heaven; and that goes to the heart 
 of the human creature who perceives it. Mr. Dil- 
 hvyn was watching her, meanwhile, and could 
 look safely, secure that Lois was in no danger 
 of finding it out; and while she, very likely, was 
 thinking of the distance between that angel face 
 and her own, Philip on the other hand was follow- 
 ing the line of his sister's thought, and tracing 
 the fancied likeness. Like one of Fra Angelico's 
 angels ! Yes, there was the same sort of grave 
 purity, of unworldly if not unearthly spiritual 
 beauty. Truly the rapt joy was not there, nor the 
 unshadowed triumph; but love and innocence, 
 and humility, and truth; and not a stain of the 
 world upon it. Lois said not one word, but looked 
 and looked, till at last she tendered the picture 
 back to its owner. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to keep it," said he, 
 "and shew it to your sister." 
 
 He brought it to have Madge see it! thought 
 Lois. Aloud
 
 ABOUT WORK. 
 
 "No she would enjoy it a great deal more if 
 you shewed it to her; then you could tell her 
 about it." 
 
 " I think you could explain it better." 
 
 As he made no motion to take back the picture, 
 Lois drew in her hand again and took a further 
 view. How beautiful was the fair, bright, rapt, 
 blissful face of the angel ! as if indeed he were 
 looking at heaven's glories. 
 
 " Did he did the painter always paint like 
 this ? " 
 
 "Always, I believe. He improved in his manner 
 as he went on; he painted better and better; but 
 from youth to age he was incessantly doing the 
 one thing, serving God with his pencil. He never 
 painted for money; that is, not for himself; the 
 money went into the church's treasury. He did 
 not work for fame; much of his best work is upon 
 the walls of the monks' cells, where few would see 
 it. He would not receive office. He lived upon 
 the Old and New Testaments, and prayer; and the 
 one business of his life was to shew forth to the 
 world what he believed, in such beautiful wise 
 that they might be won to believe it too." 
 
 "That is exactly the work we have to do, 
 everybody," said Lois, lifting her eyes with a 
 bright light in them. " I mean, everybody that 
 is a Christian. That is it; to shew forth Christ, 
 and in such wise that men may see and believe 
 in him too. That is the word in Philippians 
 'shining as lights in the world, holding forth the
 
 598 NOBODY. 
 
 word of life.' I did not know it was possible to 
 do it in painting but I see it is. thank you 
 for shewing me this ! it has done me good." 
 
 Her eyes were glistening as she gave him the 
 picture again. Philip put it in security, in silence, 
 and rose up. 
 
 " Well " said he, " now I will go and hear 
 somebody p'ay the Carnival of Venice, as if it 
 were ali rattle and no fun." 
 
 " Is that the way they play it ? " 
 
 " It is the way some people play it. Good night." 
 
 The door closed after him, and Lois sat down 
 alone before the fire again.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 
 
 SHE did not open her Bible to go on with the m 
 vestigation Mr. Dillwyn had broken off. Now 
 that he had just been with her in proper person, an 
 instinct of scared modesty fled from the question 
 whether or no he were a man whom a Christian 
 woman might marry. What was it to her? Lois 
 said to herself; what did it concern her, whether 
 such a marriage were permissible or no? Such a 
 question would never come to her for decision. To 
 Madge, perhaps? But now the other question did 
 ask for consideration ; why she winced at the idea 
 that it might come to Madge? Madge did not 
 share her sister's scruple; Madge had not made 
 the promise Lois had made; if Mr. Dillwyn asked 
 her, she would accept him, Lois had little doubt. 
 Perhaps he would ask her; and why, why, did Lois 
 wish he would not? For she perceived that the 
 idea gave her pain. Why should it give her 
 pain? For herself, the thing was a fixed fact; 
 whatever the Bible said and she knew pretty well 
 what it said for her, such a marriage was an im-
 
 600 NOBODY. 
 
 possibility. And why should she think about it at 
 all? nobody else was thinking about it. Fra An- 
 gelico's angel came back to her mind; the clear, un- 
 shadowed eyes, the pure, glad face, the separate- 
 ness from all earth's passions or pleasures, the lofty 
 exaltation above them. So ought she to be. And 
 then, while this thought was warmest, came, shut- 
 ting it out, the image of Mr. Dillwyn at the music 
 party; what he was doing there, how he would look 
 and speak, how Madge would enjoy his attentions 
 and everything; and Lois suddenly felt as if she 
 herself were very much alone. Not merely alone 
 now, to-night; she had chosen this and liked it; 
 (did she like it?) not now, but all through her 
 life. It suddenly seemed to Lois as if she were 
 henceforth to be always alone. Madge would no 
 doubt marry somebody; and there was no home 
 and nobody to make home for Lois. She had never 
 thought of it before, but now she seemed to see it 
 all quite clearly. Mrs. Barclay's work had been, to 
 separate her, in a certain way, from her family and 
 her surroundings. They fitted together no longer. 
 Lois knew what they did not know; she had tastes 
 which they did not share, but which now were be- 
 come part of her being; the society in which she 
 had moved all her life till two years, or three years, 
 ago, could no longer content her. It was not in- 
 animate nature, her garden, her spade and her 
 wheelbarrow, that seemed distasteful; Lois could 
 have gone into that work again with all her heart, 
 and thought it no hardship; it was the mental level
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 601 
 
 at which the people lived; the social level, in houses, 
 tables, dress and amusements and manner; the ses- 
 thetic level of beauty and grace and fitness, or at 
 least the perception of them. Lois pondered and 
 revolved this all till she began to grow rather 
 dreary. Think of the Esterbrooke school, and of be- 
 ing alone there! Rough, rude, coarse boys and 
 girls; untaught, untamed, ungovernable, except by 
 an uncommon exertion of wisdom and will; long 
 days of hard labour, nights of common food and 
 sleep, with no delicate arrangements for either, and 
 social refreshment utterly out of the question. And 
 Madge away; married, perhaps, and travelling in 
 Europe, and seeing Fra Angelico's paintings. Then 
 the angel's face recurred to Lois, and she pulled 
 herself up. The angel's face, and the painter's 
 history, both confronted her. On one hand, the 
 seraphic purity and joy of a creature who knew no 
 will but God's will; on the other hand, the quiet, 
 patient life which had borne such fruits. Four 
 hundred years ago, Fra Angelico painted; and ever 
 since his work had been bearing witness to God's 
 truth and salvation ; was even at that minute teach- 
 ing and admonishing herself. What did it signify, 
 just hoiv her own work should be done, if only it were 
 like work? What matter whether rough or smooth, 
 alone or in company ? Where the service is to be 
 done, there the Master puts his servant; what the 
 service is, He knows; for the servant, all that he 
 has to take care of is, that step by step he follow 
 where he is led, and everywhere-and by all means
 
 602 NOBODY. 
 
 in his power that he shew forth Christ to men. 
 Then, something like that angel's security would 
 be with him all the way, and something like that 
 angel's joy be at the end of it. The little picture 
 had helped and comforted Lois amazingly, and she 
 went to bed with a heart humbled and almost 
 contented. 
 
 She went, however, in good time, before Madge 
 could be returned home; she did not want to hear 
 the outflow of description and expatiation which 
 might be expected. And Madge indeed found her 
 so seemingly sleepy that she was forced to give 
 up talking and come to bed too. But all Lois had 
 gained was a respite. The next morning as soon 
 as they were awake, Madge began. 
 
 " Lois, we had a grand time last night ! You 
 were so stupidly asleep when I came home, I 
 couldn't tell you. We had a beautiful time ! 
 Lois, Mrs. Burrage's house is just magnificent!" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " The floors are all laid in patterns of different 
 coloured woods a sort of mosaic " 
 
 " Parquetry." 
 
 "What? I call it- mosaic, with centre pieces 
 and borders, elegant! And they are smooth 
 and polished; and then carpets and rugs of all 
 sorts are laid about; and it's most beautiful. She 
 has got one of those Persian carpets she was tell- 
 ing about, Lois." 
 
 " I dare say." 
 
 "And the walls are all great mirrors, or else
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 603 
 
 there is the richest sort of drapery curtains or 
 hangings; and the prettiest painted walls. And 
 Lois, the flowers ! : ' 
 
 " Where were they ? " 
 
 " Everywhere ! On tables, and little shelves on 
 the wall" 
 
 " Brackets." 
 
 " well ! shelves they are, call them what you 
 like; and stands of plants and pots of plants the 
 whole place was sweet with the smell and green 
 with the leaves, and brilliant with the flowers " 
 
 " Seems to have been brilliant generally." 
 
 " So it was, just brilliant, with all that, and with 
 the lights and with the people." 
 
 " Were the people brilliant too ? " 
 
 " And the playing." 
 
 the playing!" 
 
 "Everybody said so. It wasn't like Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's playing." 
 
 "What was it like?" 
 
 " It looked like very hard work, to me. My 
 dear, I saw the drops of sweat standing on one 
 man's forehead; he had been playing a pretty 
 long piece," Madge added by way of accounting 
 for things. " I never saw anything like it, in 
 all my life!" 
 
 " Like what ? sweat on a man's forehead ? " 
 
 " Like the playing. Don't be ridiculous." 
 
 "It is not I," said Lois, who meanwhile had 
 risen and was getting dressed. Madge was doing 
 the same, talking all the while. "So the play-
 
 604 NOBODY. 
 
 ing was something to be seen. What was the 
 singing?" 
 
 Madge stood still, comb in hand. " I don't know ! " 
 she said gravely. Lois could not help laughing. 
 
 "Well I don't," Madge went on. "It was so 
 queer, some of it, I did not know which way 
 to look. Some of it was regular yelling, Lois; and 
 if people are going to yell, I'd rather have it out 
 of doors. But one man I think he thought he 
 was doing it remarkably well the goings up and 
 down of his voice " 
 
 " Cadences " 
 
 "Well, the cadences if you choose; they made 
 me think of nothing but the tones of the lions 
 and other beasts in the menagerie. Don't you 
 know how they roar up and down? first softly 
 and then loud? I had everything in the world 
 to do not to laugh out downright He was sing- 
 ing something meant to be very pathetic; and it 
 was absolutely killing." 
 
 " It was not all like that, I suppose." 
 
 "No. There was some I liked. But nothing 
 one half so good as your singing a hymn, Lois. 
 I wish you could have been there to give them 
 one. Only you could not sing a hymn in such 
 a place." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Why because ! It would be out of place." 
 
 " I would not go anywhere where a hymn would 
 be out of place." 
 
 "That's nonsense. But 0, how the people were
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 605 
 
 dressed, Lois ! Brilliant ! you may well say so. 
 It took away my breath at first." 
 
 "You got it again, I hope?" 
 
 "Yes. But Lois, it is nice to have plenty 
 of money." 
 
 "Well, yes. And it is nice not to have it if 
 the Lord makes it so." 
 
 " Makes what so ? You are very unsympathetic, 
 this morning, Lois! But if you had only been there. 
 
 Lois, there were one or two fur rugs fur skins 
 for rugs, the most beautiful things I ever saw. 
 One was a leopard's skin, with its beautiful spots; 
 the other was white and thick and fluffy I couldn't 
 find out what it was." 
 
 "Bear, maybe." 
 
 "Bear! Lois those two skins finished me! 
 
 1 kept my head for a while, with all the mosaic 
 floors and rich hangings and flowers and dresses, 
 but those two skins took away the little sense I had 
 left. They looked so magnificent! so luxurious." 
 
 " They are luxurious, no doubt." 
 
 " Lois, I don't see why some people should have 
 so much, and others so little." 
 
 "The same sort of question that puzzled David 
 once." 
 
 " Why should Mrs. Burrage have all that, and 
 you and I have only yellow painted floors and rag 
 carpets ? " 
 
 "I don't want 'all that.'" 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "No." *
 
 606 NOBODY. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Madge, those things do not make people 
 happy." 
 
 " It's all very well to say so, Lois. I should like 
 just to try once." 
 
 " How do you like Mrs. Burrage ? " 
 
 Madge hesitated a trifle. 
 
 " She is pleasant, pretty and clever and lively ; 
 she went flying about among the people like a but- 
 terfly, stopping a minute here and a minute there, 
 but I guess it was not to get honey but to give it. 
 She was a little honified to me, but not much. I 
 don't think " (slowly) " she liked to see her broth- 
 er making much of me." 
 
 Lois was silent. 
 
 "He was there; I didn't tell you. He came a 
 little late. He said he had been here, and as he 
 didn't find us he came on to his sister's." 
 
 " He was here a little while." 
 
 "So he said. But he was so good, Lois! He 
 was very good. He talked to me, and told me 
 about things, and took care of me, and gave me 
 supper. I tell you, I thought madam his sister 
 looked, a little askance at him once or twice. I 
 know she tried to get him away." 
 
 Lois again made no answer. 
 
 " Why should she, Lois ? " 
 
 *' Maybe you were mistaken." 
 
 " I don't think I was mistaken. But why should 
 she, Lois?" 
 
 " Madge, dear, you know what I told you."
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 607 
 
 Abe it what?" 
 
 "Ab'-.it that; people's feelings. You and I do 
 not be"jng to this gay, rich world; we are not 
 rich, a~d we are not fashionable, and we do not 
 live as they live, in any way ; and they do not want 
 us ; why should they ? " 
 
 " We should not hurt them ! " said Madge in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " Nor be of any use or pleasure to them." 
 
 "There isn't a girl among them all to compare 
 with you, as far as looks go." 
 
 " I am afraid that will not help the matter," said 
 Lois smiling; but then she added with earnest and 
 almost anxious eagerness, 
 
 " Madge, dear, don't think about it ! Happiness 
 is not there ; and what God gives us is best. Best 
 for you and best for me. Don't you wish for riches ! 
 or for anything we haven't got. What we have 
 to do, is to live so as to shew forth Christ and his 
 truth before men." 
 
 "Very few do that," said Madge shortly. 
 
 " Let us be some of the few." 
 
 " I'd like to do it in high places, then," said 
 Madge. "0 you needn't talk, Lois! It's a great 
 deal nicer to have a leopard skin under your feet 
 than a rag carpet." 
 
 Lois could not help smiling, though something 
 like tears was gathering. 
 
 "And I'd rather have Mr. Dillwyn take care of 
 me than uncle Tim Hotchkiss." 
 
 The laughter and the tears came both more un
 
 508 NOBODY. 
 
 mistakeably. Lois felt a little hysterical. She fin 
 ished dressing hurriedly, and heard as little as pos- 
 sible of Madge's further communications. 
 
 It was a few hours later, that same morning, that 
 Philip Dillwyn strolled into his sister's breakfast 
 room. It was a room at the back of the house, the 
 end of a suite ; and from it the eye roved through 
 half drawn portieres and between rows of pillars, 
 along a vista of the parquetted floors Madge had 
 described to her sister; catching here the glitter 
 of gold from a picture frame, and there a gleam of 
 white from a marble figure, through the half light 
 which reigned there. In the breakfast room it was 
 bright day; and Mrs. Burrage was finishing her 
 chocolate and playing with bits of dry toast, when 
 her brother came in. Philip had hardly exchanged 
 greetings and taken his seat, when his attention 
 was claimed by Mrs. Burrage's young son and heir, 
 who forthwith thrust himself between his uncle's 
 knees, a bat in one hand, a worsted ball in the 
 other. 
 
 " Uncle Phil, mamma says her name usen't to be 
 Burrage it was your name ? " 
 
 " That is correct." 
 
 " If it was your name once, why isn't it your 
 name now ? " 
 
 " Because she changed it and became Burrage." 
 
 " What made her be Burrage ? " 
 
 " That is a deep question in mental philosophy, 
 which I am unable to answer, Chauncey." 
 
 "She says, it's because she married papa."
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 609 
 
 "Does not your mother generally speak truth?" 
 
 Young Philip Chauncey seemed to consider this 
 question ; and finally waiving it, went on pulling 
 at a button of his uncle's coat in the energy of his 
 inquiries. 
 
 "Uncle Phil, you haven't got a wife?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Why haven't you ? " 
 
 "An old cookery book says, 'First catch your 
 hare.'" 
 
 " Must you catch your wife ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " How do you catch her ? " 
 
 But the answer to this most serious inquiry was 
 met by such a burst of laughter on the part of both 
 the older persons in the room, that Phil had to 
 wait; nothing daunted however returned to the 
 charge. 
 
 " Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her 
 name be ? " 
 
 " If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will 
 be" 
 
 But here the speaker had very nearly, in his ab- 
 straction, brought out a name that would, to say 
 the least, have astonished his sister. He caught 
 himself up just in time, and laughed. 
 
 "If ever I have one, her name will be mine." 
 
 " I did not know, last night, but you had chosen 
 the lady to whom you intended to do so much 
 honour," his sister observed coolly, looking at him 
 across her chocolate cup.
 
 610 NOBODY. 
 
 " Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. 
 What did you think of my supposed choice ? " he 
 asked with equal coolness. 
 
 " What could I think, except that you were like 
 all other men distraught for a pretty face." 
 
 "One might do worse," observed Philip in the 
 same tone, while that of his sister grew warmer. 
 
 "Some men, but not you, Philip." 
 
 "What distinguishes me from the mass?" 
 
 "You are too old to be made a fool of." 
 
 " Old enough to be wise, certainly." 
 
 " And you are too fastidious to be satisfied with 
 anything short of perfection; and then you fill too 
 high a position in the world to marry a girl who ia 
 nobody. 1 ' 
 
 " So ? " said Philip, using, which it always 
 vexed his sister to have him do, the half question- 
 ing, half admiring, wholly unattackable German 
 expression. "Then the person alluded to seemed 
 to you something short of perfection?" 
 
 "She is handsome," returned his sister; "she 
 has a very handsome face; anybody can see that; 
 but that does not make her your equal." 
 
 "Humph! You suppose I can find that rare 
 bird, my equal, do you ? " 
 
 " Not there." 
 
 " What's the matter with her?" 
 
 " She is simply nobody." 
 
 "Seems to say a good deal," responded Philip. 
 U I do not know just what it says." 
 
 "You know as well as I do! And she is un-
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. 611 
 
 formed; unused to all the ways of the world; a 
 mere novice in society." 
 
 " Part of that is soon mended," said Philip eas- 
 ily. " I heard your uncle, or Burrage's uncle, old 
 Colonel Chauncey, last night declaring that there 
 is not a girl in the city that has such manners as 
 one of the Miss Lothrops; manners of 'mingled 
 grace and dignity,' he said." 
 
 "That was the other one." 
 
 "That was the other one." 
 
 " She has been in New York before ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That was the one that Tom Caruthers was be 
 witched with ? " 
 
 " Have you heard that story ? " said Mr. Dillwyn 
 dryly. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I hear it?" 
 
 " No reason, that I know. It is one of the ' way IE 
 of the world ' you referred to, to tell everything of 
 everybody, especially when it is not true." 
 
 " Isn't that story true ? " 
 
 " It has no inherent improbability. Tom is open 
 to influences, and " he stopped. 
 
 " I know it is true ; for Mrs. Caruthers told me 
 herself." 
 
 " Poor Tom ! " 
 
 " It was very good for him, that the thing was 
 put an end to. But you you should fly at higher 
 game than Tom Caruthers can strike, Philip." 
 
 "Thank you. There was no occasion for youi 
 special fear last night. I am in no danger there
 
 612 NOBODY. 
 
 But I know a raau, Jessie, a man I think muc\i 
 of, too, who is very mnch drawn to one of those 
 ladies. He has confessed as much to me. What 
 advice shall I give him ? He is a man that can 
 please himself; he has abundant means, and no 
 ties to encumber him." 
 
 " Does he hold as high a position as you ? " 
 
 " Quite. ' 
 
 " And may pretend to as much ? " 
 
 "He is not a man of pretensions. But taking 
 your words as they mean, I should say, yes." 
 
 " Is it any use to offer him advice ? " 
 
 " I think he generally hears mine if he is not 
 too far gone in something." 
 
 "Ah! Well, Philip, tell him to think what he 
 is doing." 
 
 "01 have put that before him." 
 
 " He would make himself a great goose." 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have some arguments 
 wherewith to substantiate that prophecy." 
 
 "He can see the whole for himself. Let him 
 think of the fitness of things. Imagine such a girl 
 set to preside over his house a house like this, for 
 instance. Imagine her helping him receive his 
 guests; sitting at the head of his table. Fancy 
 it; a girl who has been accustomed to sanded 
 floors, perhaps, and paper window shades, and who 
 has fed on pumpkins and pork all her life." 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn smiled, as his eye roved over what 
 of his sister's house was visible from where he sat, 
 and he remembered the meal times in Shampu-
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. (513 
 
 ashuh; he smiled, but his eye had more thought in 
 it than Mrs. Burrage liked. She was watching him. 
 
 " I cannot tell what sort of a house is in ques- 
 tion in the present case," he said at length. " Per- 
 naps it would not be a house like this." 
 
 " It ought to be a house like this." 
 
 " Isn't that an open question ? " 
 
 "No! I am supposing that this man, your 
 friend, Do I know him ? " 
 
 " Do you not know everybody ? But I have no 
 permission to disclose his name." 
 
 "And I do not care for it, if he is going to make 
 a mesalliance; a marriage beneath him. Such mar- 
 riages turn out miserably. A woman not fit for 
 society drags her husband out of it; a woman who 
 has not refined tastes makes him gradually coarse ; 
 a woman with no connections keeps him from ris- 
 ing in life ; if she is without education, she lets all 
 the best part of him go to waste. In short, if he 
 marries a nobody he becomes nobody too; parta 
 with all his antecedents, and buries all his advan- 
 tages. It's social ruin, Philip ! it is just ruin." 
 
 " If this man only does not prefer the bliss of 
 ruining himself!" said her brother, rising and 
 lightly stretching himself. Mrs. Burrage looked 
 at him keenly and doubtfully. 
 
 " There is no greater mistake a man can make, 
 than to marry beneath him," she went on. 
 
 "Yes, I think that too." 
 
 "It sinks him below his level; it is a weighl 
 round his neck ; people afterwards when he is men
 
 C14 NOBODY. 
 
 tioned say, 'He. married such a one, you know;' 
 and, 'Didn't he marry unfortunately?' He is like 
 depreciated coin. It kills him, Philip, politically." 
 
 " And fashionably." 
 
 " fashionably ! of course." 
 
 "What's left to a man, when he ceases to be 
 fashionable ! " 
 
 "Well, of course he chooses a new set of as- 
 sociates." 
 
 " But if Tom Caruthers had married as you say 
 He wanted to marry, his wife would have come at 
 once into his circle and made one of it." 
 
 " Provided she could hold the place." 
 
 " Of that I have no doubt." 
 
 "It was a great gain to Tom that he missed." 
 
 " The world has odd balances to weigh loss and 
 gain ! " said Philip. 
 
 " Why Philip, in addition to everything else, 
 these girls are religious: not -after a reasonable 
 fashion, you know, but puritanical; prejudiced, and 
 narrow, and stiff." 
 
 "How do you know all that?" 
 
 "From that one's talk last night. And from 
 Mrs. Wishart." 
 
 " Did she say they were puritanical ? " 
 
 "Yes. yes! they are stiff about dancing and 
 cards; and I had nearly laughed last night at the 
 way Miss what's her name ? opened her eyes at 
 me when I spoke of the theatre." 
 
 " She does not know what the theatre is," said 
 Philip.
 
 CHOOSING A WIFE. >15 
 
 "She thinks she does." 
 
 " She does not know the half." 
 
 " Philip," said Mrs. Burrage severely and discon- 
 tentedly, " you are not agreeing with me." 
 
 " Not entirely, sister." 
 
 "You are as fond of the theatre, or of the 
 opera, as anybody I know." 
 
 "I never saw a decent opera in my life." 
 
 " Philip ! " 
 
 "Nor did you." 
 
 "How ridiculous! You have been going to the 
 opera all your life, and the theatre too, in half a 
 dozen different countries." 
 
 "Therefore I claim to know of what I speak. 
 And if I had a wife, " he paused. His thoughts 
 made two or three leaps; the vision of Lois's sweet, 
 pure dignity came before him, and words were 
 wanting. 
 
 "What if you had a wife?" asked his sister 
 impatiently. 
 
 " 1 would rather she would be anything but a 
 'fast' woman." 
 
 "She needn't be 'fast'; but she needn't be pre- 
 cise, either." 
 
 There was something in Philip's air or his si- 
 lence which provoked Mrs. Bun-age. She went 
 on with some heat and defiantly. 
 
 " I have no objection to religion, in a proper 
 way. I always teach Chauncey to make the 
 responses." 
 
 "Make them yourself?"
 
 616 NOBODY. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Do you mean them ? " 
 
 " Mean them ! " 
 
 "Yes. Do you mean what you say? When 
 you have said, ' Lord, have mercy upon us, mis- 
 erable sinners ' did you feel guilty? or miserable ?" 
 ' Miserable ! " 
 
 " Yes. Did you feel miserable ? " 
 
 " Philip, I have no idea what you are driving 
 at, unless you are defending these two precise, 
 puritanical young country women." 
 
 " A little of that," he said smiling, " and a little 
 of something else." 
 
 He had risen, as if to go. His sister looked at 
 him, vexed and uncertain. She was proud of her 
 brother, she admired him, as most people did who 
 knew Mr. Dillwyn. Suddenly she changed her tac- 
 tics; rose up, and coining to him laid both her hands 
 on his shoulders so that she could raise herself up 
 to kiss him. 
 
 " Don't you go and be foolish ! " she said. " I 
 will forgive your friend, Philip, but I will not for- 
 give you ! "
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 days of December went by. Lois was her- 
 1 self again, in health; and nothing was in the 
 way of Madge's full enjoyment of New York and 
 its pleasures, so she enjoyed them to the full. She 
 went wherever Mrs. Wishart would take her. That 
 did not involve any very outrageous dissipation, for 
 Mrs. Wishart, though fond of society, liked it best 
 in moderation. Moderate companies and moderate 
 hours suited her. However, Madge had enough to 
 content her new thirst for excitement and variety, 
 especially as Mr. Dillwyn continually came in to 
 fill up gaps in her engagements. He took her to 
 drive, or to see various sights, which for the coun- 
 try bred girl were full of enchantment; and he came 
 to the house constantly on the empty evenings. 
 
 Lois queried again and again what brought him 
 there? Madge it must be; it could hardly be the 
 society of his old friend Mrs. Wishart. It was not 
 her society that he sought. He was general in his 
 
 attentions, to be sure; but he played chess with 
 
 " i\
 
 618 NOBODY. 
 
 Madge, he accompanied Madge's singing, he helped 
 Madge in her French reading and Italian pronun- 
 ciation, and took Madge out. He did none of these 
 things with Lois. Truly, Lois had been asked, and 
 would not go out either alone or with her sister 
 in Mr. Dillwyn's carriage or in Mr. Dillwyn's con- 
 voy. And she had been challenged, and invariably 
 declined, to sing with them; and she did not want 
 to learn the game of chess, and took no help from 
 anybody in her studies. Indeed Lois kept herself 
 persistently in the background, and refused to ac- 
 company her friends to any sort of parties; and at 
 home, though she must sit down stairs in the even- 
 ing, she withdrew from the conversation as much 
 as she could. 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Wishart, much vexed at 
 last, "you do not think it is inched to go into 
 society, I hope?" 
 
 " Not for you. I do not think it would be right 
 for me." 
 
 " Why not, pray ? Is this Puritanism ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Lois smiling. 
 
 " She is a regular Puritan, though," said Madge. 
 
 " It isn't that," Lois repeated. "I like going out 
 among people as well as Madge does. I am afraid 
 I might like it too well." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' too well ' ? " demanded 
 her protectress, a little angrily. 
 
 " More than would be good for me. Just think, 
 in a little while I must go back to Esterbrooke 
 and teaching; don't you see, I had better not get
 
 DUTY. (>r<) 
 
 myself entangled with what would unfit me lor 
 my work ? " 
 
 "Nonsense! That is not your work." 
 
 " You are never going back to that horrid place ! " 
 exclaimed Madge. 
 
 But they both knew, from the manner of Loi.s's 
 quiet silence, that .their positions would not In; 
 maintained. 
 
 "There's the more reason, if you are going back 
 there by and by, why you should take all the ad- 
 vantage you can of the present," Mrs. Wish art 
 added. Lois gave her a sweet grateful look, ac- 
 knowledging her tenderness, but not granting her 
 conclusions. She got away from the subject as 
 soon as she could. The question of the sisters' 
 return home had already been broached by Lois; 
 received however by Mrs. Wishart with such con- 
 tempt and by Madge with such utter disfavour, 
 that Lois found the point could not be carried; at 
 least not at that time; and then winter began to 
 set in, and she could find no valid reason for mak- 
 ing the move before it should be gone again, Mrs. 
 Wishart's intention being unmistakeable to keep 
 them until spring. But how was she going to 
 hold out until spring? Lois felt herself very un- 
 comfortable. She could not possibly avoid seeing 
 Mr. Dillwyn constantly; she could not always help 
 talking to him, for sometimes he would make her 
 talk; and she was very much afraid that she liked 
 to talk to him. All the while she was obliged to 
 gee how much attention he was pay'ng to Madge,
 
 620 NOBODY. 
 
 and it was no secret how well Madge liked it; and 
 Lois was afraid to look at her own reasons for dis- 
 liking it. Was it merely because Mr. Dillwyn was 
 a man of the world, and she did not want her sis- 
 ter to get entangled with him ? her sister who had 
 made no promise to her grandmother, and who 
 was only bound and perhaps would not be bound, 
 by Bible commands? Lois had never opened her 
 Bible to study the point, since that evening 
 when Mr. Dillwyn had interrupted her. She was 
 ashamed to do it. The question ought to have no 
 interest for her. 
 
 So days went by, and weeks, and the year was 
 near at an end, when the first snow came. It had 
 held off wonderfully, people said; and now when 
 it came it came in earnest. It snowed all night and 
 all day; and slowly then the clouds thinned and 
 parted and cleared away, and the westering sun 
 broke out upon a brilliant world. 
 
 Lois sat at her window, looking out at it, and 
 chiding herself that it made her feel sober. Or 
 else, by contrast it let her know how sober she 
 was. The spectacle was wholly joy-inspiring, and 
 so she had been wont to find it. Snow lying un- 
 broken on all the ground, in one white, fair glitter; 
 snow lying piled up on the branches and twigs 
 of trees, doubling them with white coral; snow 
 in ridges and banks on the opposite shore of the 
 river; and between, the rolling waters. Madge 
 burst in. 
 
 " Isn't it glorious ? " said Lois. " Come here and
 
 DUTY. 621 
 
 see how black the river is rolling between its white 
 banks." 
 
 "Black? I didn't know anything was black," 
 said Madge. " Here is Mr. Dillwyn, come to take 
 me sleigh-riding. Just think, Lois ! a sleigh ride 
 in the Park ! I'm so glad I have got my hood 
 done ! " 
 
 Lois slowly turned her head round. "Sleigh 
 riding ? " she said. " Are you going sleigh riding, 
 and with Mr. Dillwyn ? " 
 
 "Yes indeed, why not?" said Madge, bustling 
 about with great activity. " I'd rather go with 
 him than with anybody else, I can tell you. He 
 has got his sister's horses Mrs. Burrage don't like 
 sleighing and Mr. Burrage begged he would take 
 the horses out. They're gay, but he knows how to 
 drive. won't it be magnificent ? " 
 
 Lois looked at her sister in silence, unwilling, 
 yet not knowing what to object; while Madge 
 wrapped herself in a warm cloak and donned a 
 silk hood lined with cherry colour, in which she 
 was certainly something to look at. No plainer at- 
 tire nor brighter beauty would be seen among the 
 gay snow revellers that afternoon. She flung a 
 sparkling glance at her sister as she turned to go. 
 
 " Don't be very long ! " Lois said. 
 
 "Just as long as he likes to make it!" Madge 
 returned. " Do you think / am going to ask him 
 to turn about, before he is ready ? Not I, I prom- 
 ise you. Good bye, hermit ! " 
 
 Away she ran, and Lois turned again to her win
 
 622 NOBODY. 
 
 dow, where all the white seemed suddenly to have 
 become black. She will marry him ! she was say- 
 ing to herself. And why should she not? she has 
 made no promise, /am bound; doubly; what is it 
 to me, what they do ? Yet if not right for me it is 
 not right for Madge. 7* the Bible absolute about it? 
 
 She thought it would perhaps serve to settle and 
 stay her mind if she went to the Bible with the 
 question and studied it fairly out. She drew up the 
 table with the book, and prayed earnestly to be 
 taught the truth and to be kept contented with the 
 right. Then she opened at the well-known word? 
 in 2 Corinthians, chap. vi. 
 
 " Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbe- 
 lievers " 
 
 " Yoked together." That is, bound in a bond 
 which obliges two to go one way and pull in one 
 draught Then of course they must go one way; 
 and which way, will depend upon which is strong- 
 est. But cannot a good woman use her influence to 
 induce a man who is also good, only not Christian, 
 to go the right way? 
 
 Lois pondered this, wishing to believe it. Yet 
 there stood the command. And she remembered 
 there are two sides to influence; could not a good 
 man, and a pleasant man, only not Christian, use 
 his power to induce a Christian woman to go the 
 wrong way ? How little she would like to displease 
 him ! how willingly she would gratify him ! And 
 then there stands the command. And turning from 
 it to a parallel passage in 1 Cor. vii. 39, she read
 
 DUTY. 623 
 
 again the directions for the marriage of a Christian 
 widow ; she is at liberty to be married to whom she 
 will, " only in the Lord." There could be no ques- 
 tion of what is the will of God in this matter. And 
 in Deut. vii. 3, 4, she studied anew the reasons there 
 given. " Neither shalt thou make marriages with 
 them; thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his 
 son, nor his daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. 
 For they will turn away thy son from following me, 
 that they may serve other gods." 
 
 Lois studied these passages with I cannot say 
 how much aching of heart. Why did her heart 
 ache ? It was nothing to her, surely ; she neither 
 loved nor was going to love any man to whom the 
 prohibition could apply. Why should she concern 
 herself with the matter? Madge? Well, Madge 
 must be the keeper of her own conscience; she 
 would probably marry Mr. Dillwyn ; and poor Lois 
 saw sufficiently into the workings of her own heart 
 to know that she thought her sister very happy in 
 the prospect. But then, if the question of con- 
 science could be so got over, why was she trou- 
 bled? She would not evade the inquiry; she forced 
 herself to make it; and she writhed under the pres- 
 sure and the pain it caused her. At last, thor- 
 oughly humbled and grieved and ashamed, she 
 fled to a woman's refuge in tears and a Christian's 
 refuge in prayer; and from the bottom of her 
 heart, though with some very hard struggles, gave 
 up every lingering thought and wish that ran 
 co-inter to the Bible command, Let Madge do
 
 624 NOBODY. 
 
 what Madge thought right; she had warned her 
 of the truth. Now her business was with herself 
 and her own action ; and Lois made clean work of 
 it. I cannot say she was exactly a happy woman 
 as she went down stairs; but she felt strong and 
 at peace. Doing the Lord's will, she could not be 
 miserable ; with the Lord's presence she could not 
 be utterly alone; anyhow, she would trust him and 
 do her duty and leave all the rest. 
 
 She went down stairs at last, for she had spent 
 the afternoon in her own room, and felt that she 
 owed it to Mrs. Wishart to go down and keep her 
 company. if Spring were but come! she thought 
 as she descended the staircase, and she could get 
 away, and take hold of her work, and bring things 
 into the old train ! Spring was many weeks off 
 yet, and she must do different and harder work 
 first, she saw. She went down to the back draw- 
 ing room and laid herself upon the sofa. 
 
 "Are you not well, Lois?" was the immediate 
 question from Mrs. Wishart. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; only not just vigorous. How long 
 they are gone ! It is growing late." 
 
 " The sleighing is tempting. It is not often we 
 have such a chance. I suppose everybody is out. 
 You don't go into the air enough, Lois." 
 
 " I took a walk this morning." 
 
 "In the snow! and came back tired. I saw it 
 in your face. Such dreadful walking was enough 
 to tire you. I don't think you half know how to 
 take care of yourself."
 
 DUTY. 625 
 
 Lois let the charge pass undisputed, and lay still. 
 The afternoon had waned and the sun gone down; 
 the snow however made it still light outside. But 
 that light faded too; and it was really evening, 
 when sounds at the front door announced the re- 
 turn of the sleighing party. Presently Madge burst 
 in, rosy and gay as snow and sleigh bells could 
 make anybody. 
 
 " It's glorious ! " she said. " we have been to 
 the Park and all over. It's splendid! Everybody 
 in the world is out, and we saw everybody, and 
 some people we saw two or three times; and it's 
 like nothing in all the world I ever saw before. 
 The whole air is full of sleigh bells ; and the roads 
 are so thick with sleighs that it is positively dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 " That must make it very pleasant ! " said Lois 
 languidly. 
 
 " it does ! There's the excitement, you know, 
 and the skill of steering clear of people that you 
 think are going to run over you. It's the greatest 
 fun I ever saw in my life. And Mr. Dillwyn drives 
 beautifully." 
 
 " I dare say." 
 
 "And the next piece of driving he does, is to 
 drive you out." 
 
 " I hardly think he will manage that." 
 
 "Well, you'll see. Here he is. She says she 
 hardly thinks you will, Mr. Dillwyn. Now for a 
 trial of power! " 
 
 Madge stood in the centre of the room, her hood
 
 626 NOBOD\ . 
 
 off, her little plain cloak still round her; eyes spark- 
 ling, cheeks rosy with pleasure and frosty air, a 
 very handsome and striking figure. Lois's eyes 
 dwelt upon her, glad and sorry at once; but Lois 
 had herself in hand now and was as calm as the 
 other was excited. Then presently came Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn, and sat down beside her couch. 
 
 " How do you do, this evening?" 
 
 His manner, she noticed, was not at all like 
 Madge's; it was quiet, sober, collected, gentle; 
 sleighing seemed to have wrought no particular 
 exhilaration on him. Therefore it disarmed Lois. 
 She gave her answer in a similar tone. 
 
 "Have you been out to-day?" 
 
 "Yes quite a long walk this morning." 
 
 "Now I want you to let me give you a short 
 drive." 
 
 "0 no, I think not." 
 
 " Come ! " said he. " I may not have another op- 
 portunity to shew you what you will see to-day; 
 and I want you to see it." 
 
 He did not seem to use much urgency, and yet 
 there was a certain insistance in his tone which 
 Lois felt, and which had its effect upon her, as such 
 tones are apt to do, even when one does not willingly 
 submit to them. She objected that it was late. 
 
 "0 the moon is up," cried Madge; "it won't be 
 any darker than it is now." 
 
 " It will be brighter," said Philip. 
 
 " But your horses must have had enough." 
 
 "Just enough," said Philip laughing, "to make
 
 DUTY. 627 
 
 them go quietly. Miss Madge will bear witness 
 they were beyond that at first. I want you to go 
 with me. Come, Miss Lois ! We must be home 
 before Mrs. Wishart's tea. Miss Madge, give her 
 your hood and cloak ; that will save time." 
 
 Why should she not say no ? She found it diffi- 
 cult, against that something in his tone. He was 
 more intent upon the affirmative than she upon the 
 negative. And after all, why should she say no ? 
 She had fought her fight and conquered; Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn was nothing to her, more than another man; 
 unless indeed he were to be Madge's husband, and 
 then she would have to be on good terms with 
 him. And she had a secret fancy to have, for 
 once, the pleasure of this drive with him. Why 
 not? just to see how it tasted. I think it went 
 with Lois at this moment as in the German story, 
 where a little boy vaunted himself to his sister that 
 ne had resisted the temptation to buy some ripe 
 cherries, and so had saved his pennies. His sister 
 praised his prudence and firmness. " But now, 
 dear Hercules," she went on, " now that you have 
 done right and saved your pennies, now, my 
 dear brother, you may reward yourself and buy 
 your cherries ! " 
 
 Perhaps it was with some such unconscious re- 
 coil from judgment that Lois acted now. At any 
 rate, she slowly rose from her sofa, and Madge, 
 rejoicing, threw off her cloak and put it round her, 
 and fastened its ties. Then Mr. Dillwyn himself 
 took the hood and put it on her head, and tied the
 
 628 NOBODY. 
 
 strings under her chin. The start this gave her 
 almost made Lois repent of her decision; he was 
 looking into her face and his fingers were touch- 
 ing her cheek, and -the pain of it was more than 
 Lois had bargained for. No, she thought, she had 
 better not gone; but it was too late now to alter 
 things. She stood still, feeling that thrill of pain 
 and pleasure where the one so makes the other 
 keen, keeping quiet and not meeting his eyes; and 
 then he put her hand upon his arm and led her 
 down the wide, old-fashioned staircase. Something 
 in the air of it all brought to Lois's remembrance 
 that Sunday afternoon at Shampuashuh and the 
 walk home in the rain; and it gave her a stricture 
 of heart She put the manner now to Madge's ac- 
 count, and thought within herself that if Madge's 
 hood and cloak were beside him it probably did 
 not matter who was in them ; his fancy could do 
 the rest. Somehow, she did not want to go to 
 drive as Madge's proxy. However, there was no 
 helping that now. She was put into the sleigh, 
 enveloped in the fur robes; Mr. Dillwyn took his 
 place, beside her, and they were oi
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 OFF AND ON. 
 
 /CERTAINLY Madge had not said too much, and 
 w the scene was like witchery. The sun was 
 down, but the moon was up, near full, and giving 
 a white illumination to the white world. The snow 
 had fallen thick, and neither sun nor wind had as 
 yet made any impression upon it ; the covering of 
 the road was thick and well beaten, and on every 
 exposed level surface lay the white treasure piled 
 up. Every twig and branch of the trees still held 
 its burden; every roof was blanketed; there had 
 been no time yet for smoke and soil to come upon 
 the pure surfaces; and on all this fell the pale moon 
 rays casting pale shadows and making the world 
 somehow look like something better than itself. 
 The horses Mr. Dillwyn drore were fresh enough 
 yet, and stepped off gaily, their bells clinking mu- 
 sically; and other bells passed them and sounded 
 in the nearer and further distance. Moreover, 
 under this illumination all less agreeable features 
 
 of the landscape were covered up. It was a pure 
 
 <629)
 
 G30 NOBODY. 
 
 region of enchanted beauty to Lois's sense, through 
 which they drove; and she felt as if a spell had 
 come upon her too, and this bit of experience were 
 no more real than the rest of it. It was exquisitely 
 and intensely pleasant; a bit of life quite apart 
 and by itself, and never to be repeated, therefore 
 to be enjoyed all she could while she had it 
 Which thought was not enjoyment Was she not 
 foolish to have come ? 
 
 " Are you comfortable ? " suddenly Mr. Dillwyn's 
 voice came in upon these musings. 
 
 " perfectly ! " Lois answered with an accentu- 
 ation between delight and desperation. 
 
 And then he was silent again ; and she went on 
 with her musings, just that word having given 
 them a spur. How exquisite the scene was ! how 
 exquisite everything, in fact. All the uncomeli- 
 nesses of a city suburb were veiled under the 
 moonlight; nothing but beauty could be seen; here 
 were points that caught the light, and there were 
 shadows that simply served to set off the silvery 
 whiteness of the moon and the snow; what it was 
 that made those points of reflection, or what lay 
 beneath those soft shadows, did not appear. The 
 road was beaten smooth, the going was capital, 
 the horses trotted swiftly and steadily, Lois was 
 lapped in soft furs, and the air which she was 
 breathing was merely cold enough to exhilarate. 
 It was perfection. In truth it was so perfect, and 
 Lois enjoyed it so keenly, that she began to be 
 vexed at herself for her enjoyment. Why should
 
 OFF AND ON. 631 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn have got her out? all this luxury of 
 sense and feeling was not good for her; did not 
 belong to her; and why should she taste at all a 
 delight which must be so fleeting? And what had 
 possessed him to tie her hood strings for her, and to 
 do it in that leisurely way, as if he liked it? And 
 why did she like it? Lois scolded and chid herself. 
 If he were going to marry Madge ever so much, 
 that gave him no right to take such a liberty; 
 and she would not allow him such liberties; she 
 would keep him at a distance. But was she not 
 going to a distance herself? There would be no 
 need. 
 
 The moonlight was troubled, though by no cloud 
 on the ethereal firmament; and Lois was not quite 
 so conscious as she had been, of the beauty around 
 her. The silence lasted a good while; she won- 
 dered if her neighbour's thoughts were busy with 
 the lady he had just set down, to such a degree 
 that he forgot to attend to his new companion ? 
 Nothing could be more wide of the truth ; but that 
 is the way we judge and misjudge one another. 
 She was almost hurt at his silence, before he spoke 
 again. The fact is, that the general axiom that a 
 man can always put in words anything of which 
 his head and heart are both full, seems to have one 
 exception. Mr. Dillwyn was a good talker, always, 
 on matters he cared about and matters he did not 
 care about; and yet now, when he had secured, 
 one would say, the most favourable circumstances 
 for a hearing, and opportunity to speak as he liked,
 
 632 NOBODY. 
 
 he did not know how to speak. By and by his 
 hand came again round Lois to see that the fur 
 robes were well tucked in about her. Something 
 in the action made her impatient. 
 
 " I am very well " she said. 
 
 " You must be taken care of, you know," he 
 said; to Lois's fancy he said it as if there were 
 some one to whom he must be responsible for 
 her. 
 
 "I am not used to being taken care of," she 
 said. " I have taken care of myself, generally." 
 
 " Like it better ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose really no woman can 
 say she likes it better. But I am accustomed to 
 it." 
 
 " Don't you think I could take care of you ? " 
 
 " You are taking capital care of me," said Lois, 
 not knowing exactly how to understand him. 
 44 Just now it is your business; and I should say 
 you were doing it well." 
 
 " What would you say, if I told you that I 
 wanted to take care of you all your life ? " 
 
 He had let the horses come to a walk ; the sleigh 
 bells only tinkled softly; no other bells were near. 
 Which way they had gone, Lois had not considered ; 
 but evidently it had not been towards the busy and 
 noisy haunts of men. However, she did not think 
 of this till a few minutes afterwards; she thought 
 now that Mr. Dillwyn's words regarded Madge's 
 sister, and her feeling of independence became 
 rigid.
 
 OFF AND ON. 633 
 
 " A kind wish, but impracticable," she answered 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I shall be too far off. That is one thing." 
 
 " Where are you going to be ? Forgive me fo* 
 asking ! " 
 
 "0 yes. I shall be keeping school in New 
 England somewhere, I suppose; first of all, at 
 Esterbrooke." 
 
 " But if I had the care of you you would not 
 be there ? " 
 
 " That is my place," said Lois shortly. 
 
 " Do you mean it is the place you prefer ? " 
 
 "There is no question of preference. You know, 
 one's work is what is given one; and the thing 
 given me to do, at present, seems to be there. 
 Of course I do prefer what my work is." 
 
 Still the horses were smoothly walking. Mr. 
 Dillwyn was silent a moment. 
 
 "You did not understand what I said to you 
 just now. It was earnest." 
 
 " I did not think it was anything else," said Lois, 
 beginning to wish herself at home. " I am sure 
 you meant it, and I know you are very good; but 
 you cannot take care of me." 
 
 " Give me your reasons," he said, restraining the 
 horses, which would have set off upon a quicker 
 pace again. 
 
 " Why Mr. Dillwyn, it is self-evident. You would 
 not respect me if I allowed you to do it; and I 
 should not respect myself. We New England folks, 
 if we are nothing else, we are independent "
 
 634 NOBODY. 
 
 " So ? " said Mr. Dillwyn, in a puzzled manner, 
 but then a light broke upon him and he half laughed. 
 " I never heard that the most rampant spirit of 
 independence made a wife object to being depend- 
 ent on her husband." 
 
 " A wife ? " said Lois, not knowing whether she 
 heard aright. 
 
 " Yes," said he. "How else? How could it e be 
 else? Lois, may I have you, to take care of the 
 rest of my life, as my very own?" 
 
 The short, smothered breath with which this was 
 spoken was intelligible enough, and put Lois in 
 the rarest confusion. 
 
 " Me ? " was all she could ejaculate. 
 
 "You, certainly. I never saw any other woman 
 in rny life to whom I wished to put the question. 
 You are the whole world to me, as far as happi- 
 ness is concerned." 
 
 I ?_" S aid Lois again. " I thought" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She hesitated, and he urged the question. Lois 
 was not enough mistress of herself to choose her 
 words. 
 
 " I thought it was somebody else." 
 
 " Did you ? Who did you think it was ? " 
 
 " don't ask me ! " 
 
 " But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to 
 know how, and towards whom, my manner can 
 have misled you. Who was it? " 
 
 " It was not your manner exactly," said Loia 
 in terrible embarrassment, " 1 was mistaken."
 
 OFF AND ON. 635 
 
 " How could you be mistaken ? " 
 
 " I never dreamed the thought never entered 
 my head that it was I." 
 
 " I must have been in fault then," said he gently; 
 " I did not want to wear my heart on my sleeve, 
 arid so perhaps I guarded myself too well; I did 
 not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit 
 till I had heard yours. What is yours, Lois ? what 
 have you to say to me ? " 
 
 He checked the horses again, and sat with his 
 face inclined towards her, waiting eagerly, Lois 
 knew. And then, what a sharp pain shot through 
 her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; 
 and for a moment the girl's whole nature writhed 
 under the torture. She knew her own mind now; 
 she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth 
 was within her grasp; her hands were stretched 
 longingly towards it, her whole heart bounded 
 towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyss 
 from which light and hope seemed banished; there 
 was everything in all the world to bid her give the 
 answer that was waited for; only duty bade her 
 not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her prom- 
 ise bound her tongue. For that minute that she 
 was silent Lois wrestled with mortal pain. There 
 are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the 
 world takes no account of; nevertheless, they have 
 bled to death for the cause, and have been true to 
 their King at the cost of all they had in the world. 
 Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to' be 
 short, though well she knew the pain would not be,
 
 636 NOBODY. 
 
 She must speak. She did it huskily and witVi a 
 fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not 
 come out. 
 
 " I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn, that you 
 would like to hear," she added, remembering that 
 her first utterance was rather indefinite. 
 
 " You do not mean that ? " he said hurriedly. 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 " 1 know," he said, "you never say anything you 
 do not mean. But liaw do you mean it, Lois? Not 
 to deny me ? You do not mean that ? " 
 
 " Yes " she said. And it was like putting a 
 knife through her own heart when she said it. 
 if she were at home ! if she had never come on 
 this drive! if she had never left Esterbrooke 
 and those sick beds ! But here she was, and must 
 stand the question ; and Mr. Dillwyn had not done. 
 
 " What reason do you give me ? " and his voice 
 grated now with pain. 
 
 " I gave none," said Lois faintly. " Don't let us 
 talk about it! It is no use. Don't ask me any- 
 thing more ! " 
 
 " One question I must. I must know it. Do you 
 dislike me, Lois ? " 
 
 " Dislike ? no ! how should I dislike you ? " 
 she answered. There was a little, very slight, vi- 
 bration in her voice as she spoke, and her compan- 
 ion discerned it. When an instrument is very 
 high strung, a quite soft touch will be felt and an- 
 swered, and that touch swept all the strings of Mr 
 Dillwyn's soul with music.
 
 OFF AND ON. 637 
 
 " If you do not dislike me then," said he, " what 
 is it? Do you, possibly, like me, Lois?" 
 
 Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before 
 she answered, and that too Philip well noted. 
 
 "It makes no difference," she said desperately. 
 "It isn't that. Don't let us talk any more about 
 it ! Mr. Dillwyn, the horses have been walking 
 this great while, and we are a long way from 
 home; won't you drive on?" 
 
 He did drive on then, and for a while said not a 
 word more. Lois was panting with eagerness to 
 get home, and could not go fast enough ; she would 
 gladly have driven herself, only not quite such a 
 fresh and gay pair of horses. They swept along 
 towards a region that she could see from afar was 
 thicker set with lights than the parts where they 
 were. Before they reached it however, Mr. Dillwyn 
 drew rein again, and made the horses walk gently. 
 
 " There is one question still I must ask," he said ; 
 "and to ask it, I must for a moment disobey your 
 commands. Forgive me; but when the happiness 
 of a whole life is at stake, a moment's pain must 
 be borne and even inflicted to make sure one is 
 not suffering needlessly a far greater evil. Miss 
 Lois, you never do anything without a reason; 
 tell me your reason for refusing me. You thought 
 I liked some one else; it is not that; I never have 
 liked any one else. Now what is it ? " 
 
 "There is no use in talking," Lois murmured, 
 " It is only pain." 
 
 " Necessary pain," said he firmly. " It is right
 
 638 NOBODY. 
 
 I should know, and it must be possible for you to 
 tell me. Say that it is because you cannot like 
 me well enough and I shall understand that." 
 
 But Lois could not say it; and the pause, which 
 embarrassed her terribly, had naturally a different 
 effect upon her companion. 
 
 "It is' not that!" he cried. "Have you been 
 led to believe something false about me, Lois? 
 Lois?" 
 
 '"No " she said trembling; the pain, and the 
 difficulty of speaking, and the struggle it cost, set 
 her absolutely to trembling. "No it is something 
 trite" She spoke faintly, but he listened well. 
 
 " True ! What is it ? It is not true. What do 
 you mean, dear?" 
 
 The several things which came with the intona- 
 tions of this last question overset the remnant of 
 Lois's composure. She burst into tears ; and he was 
 looking, and the moonlight was full in her face, 
 and he could not but see it. 
 
 " I cannot help it," she cried ; " and you cannot 
 help it. It is no use to talk about it. You know, 
 you know, you are not a Christian ! " 
 
 It was almost a cry at last with which she said 
 it; and the usually self-contained Lois hid her face 
 away from him. Whether the horses walked or 
 trotted for a little while she did not know; and I 
 think it was only mechanical, the effort by which 
 their driver kept them at a foot pace. He waited 
 however, till Lois dropped her hands again, and 
 he thought she would attend to him.
 
 OFF AND ON. 639 
 
 "May I ask," he then said, and his voice was 
 curiously clear and composed, "if that is your 
 only objection to me?" 
 
 "It is enough!" said Lois smotheredly, and no- 
 ticing at the same time that ring in his voice. 
 
 " You think, one who is a Christian ought never 
 to marry another who is not a Christian ? " 
 
 " No ! " she said in the same way, as if catching 
 her breath. 
 
 " It is very often done." 
 
 She made no reply. This was a most cruel dis- 
 cussion, she thought. Would they never reach 
 home? And the horses walking! Walking, and 
 shaking their heads, with soft little peals of the 
 bells, like creatures who had at last got quiet 
 enough to like walking. 
 
 "Is that all, Lois?" he asked again; and the 
 tone of his voice irritated her. 
 
 "There need not be anything more," she an- 
 swered. "That is enough. It is a barrier for 
 ever between us; you cannot overcome it and 
 I cannot. do make the horses go ! we shall 
 never get home ! and don't talk any more." 
 
 "I will let the horses go presently; but first I 
 must talk a little more, because there is something 
 that must be said. That was a barrier, a while 
 ago; but it is not now. There is no need for either 
 of us to overcome it or try to overcome it, for it 
 does not exist Lois, do 'you hear nie? It does 
 not exist." 
 
 "I do not understand " she said in a dazed
 
 640 NOBODY. 
 
 kind of way, turning towards him. " What does 
 not exist ? " 
 
 "That barrier or any barrier between you and 
 me." 
 
 "Yes, it does. It is & barrier. I promised my 
 dear grandmother and if I had not promised her, 
 it would be just the same, for I have promised to 
 obey God; and he forbids it." 
 
 "Forbids what?" 
 
 "Forbids me, a Christian, to have anything to 
 do with you, who are not a Christian. I mean, 
 in that way." 
 
 " But Lois I am a Christian too." 
 
 " You ? " she said turning towards him. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What sort of a one ? " 
 
 Philip could not help laughing at the naive 
 question, which however he perfectly understood. 
 
 "Not an old one," he said; "and not a good 
 one ; and yet, Lois, truly an honest one. As you 
 mean the word. One whose King Christ is, as he 
 is yours; and who trusts in him with the whole 
 heart, as you do." 
 
 " You a Christian ! " exclaimed Lois now, in the 
 greatest astonishment. " When did it happen ? " 
 
 He laughed again. " A fair question. Well, it 
 came about last summer. You recollect our talk 
 one Sunday in the rain ? " 
 
 "Oyes!" 
 
 "That set me to thinking; and the more I saw 
 of you, yes, and of Mrs. Armadale, and the more
 
 OFF AND ON. 641 
 
 I heard of you from Mrs. Barclay, the more the 
 conviction forced itself upon my mind, that I was 
 living, and had always lived, a fool's life. That 
 was a conclusion easily reached; but how to be- 
 come wise was another matter. I resolved to give 
 myself to the study till I had found the answer; 
 and that I might do it uninterruptedly, I betook 
 myself to the wilds of Canada, with not much bag- 
 gage beside my gun and my Bible. I hunted and 
 fished; but I studied more than I did either. I 
 took time for it too. I was longing to see you; 
 but I resolved this subject should be disposed of 
 first. And I gave myself to it, until it was all 
 clear to me. And then I made open profession 
 of my belief, and took service as one of Christ's 
 declared servants. That was in Montreal." 
 
 " In Montreal ! " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why did you never say anything about it, 
 then?" 
 
 " I am not accustomed to talking on the subject, 
 you know. But really, I had a reason. I did not 
 want to seem to propitiate your favour by any 
 such means; 1 wished to try my chances with you 
 on my own merits; and that was also a reason 
 why I made my profession in Montreal. I wanted 
 to do it without delay, it is true; I also wanted to 
 do it quietly. I mean everybody shall know ; but 
 I wished you to be the first." 
 
 There followed a silence. Things rushed into 
 and over Lois's mind with such a sweep and con-
 
 642 NOBODY. 
 
 fusion, that she hardly knew what she was think- 
 ing or feeling. All her positions were knocked 
 away; all her assumptions were found baseless; 
 her defences had been erected against nothing; 
 her fears and her hopes were alike come to nought. 
 That is, Irien entendu, her old fears and her old 
 hopes; and amid the ruins of the latter new ones 
 were starting, in equally bewildering confusion. 
 Like little green heads of daffodils pushing up 
 above the frozen ground, and fair blossoms of 
 Ilepatica opening beneath a concealing mat of dead 
 leaves. Ah they would blossom freely by and by; 
 now Lois hardly knew where they were or what 
 they were. 
 
 Seeing her utterly silent aud moveless, Mr. Dil- 
 hvyn did probably the wisest thing he could do, and 
 drove on. For some time the horses trotted and the 
 bells jingled ; and by too swift approaches that wil- 
 derness of lights which marked the city suburb came 
 nearer and nearer. When it was very near aud they 
 had almost entered it, he drew in his reins again 
 and the horses tossed their heads and walked. 
 
 "Lois, I think it is fair I should have another 
 answer to my question now." 
 
 " What question ? '' she asked hurriedly. 
 
 44 You know, I was so daring as to ask to have 
 the care of you for the rest of your natural life, 
 or of mine. What do you say to it ? " 
 
 Lois said nothing. She could not find words. 
 Words seemed to tumble over one another in her 
 mind. or thoughts did.
 
 OFF AND ON. 643 
 
 " What answer are you going to give me ? " he 
 asked again, more gravely. 
 
 "You know, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois stammer- 
 ingly, " I never thought, I never knew before, 
 I never had any notion, that that that you 
 thought so. " 
 
 " Thought so ? about what ? " 
 
 "About me." 
 
 " I have thought so about you for a great while." 
 
 Silence again. The horses, being by this time 
 pretty well exercised, needed no restraining and 
 walked for their own pleasure. Everything with 
 Lois seemed to be in a whirl. 
 
 "And now it becomes necessary to know what 
 you think about me," Mr. Dillwyn went on, after 
 that pause. 
 
 " I am very glad " Lois said tremulously. 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " That you are a Christian." 
 
 "Yes, but," said he half laughing, "that is not 
 the immediate matter in hand. What do you think 
 of me in my proposed character as having the own- 
 ership and the care of you ? " 
 
 " I have never thought of you so," Lois managed 
 to get out. The words were rather faint, heard 
 however, as Mr. Dillwyn's hand *came just then ad- 
 justing and tucking in her fur robes, and his face 
 was thereby near hers. 
 
 " And now you do think of me so? What do you 
 say to me ? " 
 
 She could not say anything. Never in her life
 
 (544 NOBODY. 
 
 had Lois been at a loss and wrecked in all self-man 
 agement before. 
 
 " You know, it is necessary to say something, 
 that I may know where I stand. I must either 
 stay or go. Will you send me away ? or keep me 
 ' for good,' as the children say ? " 
 
 The tone was not without a touch of grave anx- 
 iety now, and impatient earnestness, which Lois 
 heard well enough and would have answered; but 
 it seemed as if her tongue clave to the roof of her 
 mouth. Mr. Dillwyn waited now for her to speak, 
 keeping the horses at a walk, and bending down a lit- 
 tle to hear what she would say. One sleigh passed 
 them, then another. It became intolerable to Lois. 
 
 " I do not want to send you away " she managed 
 finally to say trembling. 
 
 The words however were clear and slow-spoken, 
 and Mr. Dillwyn asked no more then. He drove 
 on, and attended to his driving, even went fast; 
 and Lois hardly knew how houses and rocks and 
 vehicles flew past them, till the reins were drawn 
 at Mrs. Wishart's door. Philip whistled; a groom 
 presently appeared from the house and took the 
 horses, arid he lifted Lois out. As they were go 
 ing up the steps he asked softly. 
 
 " Is that all you are going to say to me ? " 
 
 " Isn't it enough for to-night ? " Lois returned. 
 
 " I see you think so," he said half laughing. " 1 
 don't; but however Are you going to be alone to- 
 morrow morning, or will you take another sleigh 
 ride with me ? "
 
 OFF AND ON. 645 
 
 "Mrs. Wishart and Madge are going to Mme. 
 
 Cisco's matinee." 
 "At what o'clock?" 
 " They will leave here at half past ten." 
 " Then I will be here before eleven." 
 The door opened, and with a grip of her hand 
 
 ae turned awav
 
 XL VII. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 LOIS went along the hall in that condition of 
 the nerves in which the feet seem to walk 
 without stepping on anything. She queried what 
 time it could be ; was the evening half gone ? or 
 had they possibly not done tea yet? Then the 
 parlour door opened. 
 
 " Lois ! is that you ? Come along ; you are 
 just in time ; we are at tea. Hurry, now ! " 
 
 Lois went to her room, wishing that she could 
 any way escape going to the table ; she felt as if 
 her friend and her sister would read the news in 
 her face immediately, and hear it in her voice 
 as soon as she spoke. There was no help for it; 
 she hastened down, and presently perceived to 
 her wonderment that her friends were absolutely 
 without suspicion. She kept as quiet as possible, 
 and found, happily, that she was very hungry. 
 Mrs. Wishart and Madge were busy in talk. 
 
 "You remember Mr. Caruthers, Lois?" said the 
 former; "Tom Caruthers, who used to be here BO 
 
 often?" 
 
 (646)
 
 PLANS. 647 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Did you hear he had made a great match ? " 
 
 " I heard he was going to be married. I heard 
 that a great while ago." 
 
 "Yes, he has made a very great match. It 
 has been delayed by the death of her mother; 
 they had to wait. He was married a few 
 months ago, in Florence. They had a splendid 
 wedding." 
 
 " What makes what you call a ' great match ' ? ' 
 Madge asked. 
 
 " Money, and family." 
 
 "I understand money," Madge went on; "but 
 what do you mean by 'family,' Mrs. Wishart?" 
 
 *' My dear, if you lived in the world, you would 
 know. It means name, and position, and standing. 
 I suppose at Shampuashuh you are all alike one 
 is as good as another." 
 
 " Indeed," said Madge, " you are much mistaken, 
 Mrs. Wishart. We think one is much better than 
 another." 
 
 "Do you? Ah well, then you know what 1 
 mean, my dear. I suppose the world is really 
 very much alike in all places; it is only the names 
 of things that vary." 
 
 " In Shampuashuh," Madge went on, " we mean 
 by a good family, a houseful of honest and religions 
 people." 
 
 " Yes, Madge," said Lois looking up, " we mean 
 a little more than that. We mean a family that 
 has been honest and religious, and educated too,
 
 648 NOBODY. 
 
 for a long while for generations. We mean 
 as much as that, when we speak of a good 
 family." 
 
 " That's different," said Mrs. Wishart shortly. 
 
 " Different from what you mean ? " said Madge. 
 
 "Different from what is meant here, when we 
 use the term." 
 
 "You dont mean anything honest and relig- 
 ious ? " said Madge. 
 
 " honest ! My dear, everybody is honest, or 
 supposed to be; but we do not mean religious." 
 
 "Not religious, and only supposed to be hon- 
 est!" echoed Madge. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Wishart. "It isn't that. It 
 has nothing to do with that. When people have 
 been in society and held high positions for genera- 
 tion after generation, it is a good family. The 
 individuals need not be all good." 
 
 Oh! " said Madge. 
 
 "No. I know families among the very best in 
 the State, that have been wicked enough; but 
 though they have been wicked, that did not hin- 
 der their being gentlemen." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Madge again. " I begin to com- 
 prehend." 
 
 " There is too much made of money now-a-days." 
 Mrs. Wishart went on serenely; "and there is no 
 denying that money buys position. I do not call 
 a good family one that was not a good family a 
 hundred years ago ; but everybody is not so par- 
 ticular. Not here. They are more particular in
 
 PLANS. 649 
 
 Philadelphia.- In New York, any nobody who has 
 money can push himself forward." 
 
 "What sort of family is Mr. Dillwyn's?" 
 
 "0 good, of course. Not wealthy, till lately. 
 They have been poor, ever since I knew the fam- 
 ily; until the sister married Chauncey Burrage, 
 and Philip came into his property." 
 
 " The Caruthers are rich, aren't they ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And now the young one has made a great 
 match ? Is she handsome ? " 
 
 "I never heard so. But she is rolling in 
 money." 
 
 "What else is she?" inquired Madge dryly. 
 
 "She is a Dulcimer." 
 
 "That tells me nothing," said Madge. "By the 
 way you speak it, the word seems to have a good 
 deal of meaning for you." 
 
 " Certainly," said Mrs. Wishart. " She is one of 
 the Philadelphia Dulcimers. It is an old family, 
 and they have always been wealthy." 
 
 " How happy the gentleman must be ! " 
 
 "I hope so," said Mrs. Wishart gravely. "Y<w* 
 used to know Tom quite well, Lois. . What did you 
 think of him?" 
 
 "I liked him," said Lois. "Very pleasant and 
 amiable, and always gentlemanly. But I did not 
 think he had much character." 
 
 Mrs. Wishart was satisfied ; for Lois's tone was as 
 disengaged as anything could possibly be. 
 
 Lois could not bring herself to say anything to
 
 650 NOBODY. 
 
 Madge that night about the turn in her fortunes. 
 Her own thoughts were in too much agitation, and 
 only by slow degrees resolving themselves into 
 settled conclusions. Or rather, for the conclusions 
 were not doubtful, settling into such quiet that she 
 could look at conclusions. And Lois began to be 
 afraid to do even that, and tried to turn her eyes 
 away, and thought of the hour of half past ten next 
 morning with trembling and heart-beating. 
 
 It came with tremendous swiftness, too. How- 
 ever, she excused herself from going to the matinee, 
 though with difficulty. Mrs. Wishart was sure she 
 ought to go; and Madge tried persuasion and rail- 
 lery. Lois watched her get ready, and at last con- 
 tentedly saw the two drive off. That was good. 
 She wanted no discussion with them before she had 
 seen Mr. Dillwyn again; and now the coast was 
 clear. But then Lois retreated to her own room up 
 stairs to wait; she could not stay in the drawing- 
 room, to be found there. She would have so much 
 time for preparation as his ring at the door and his 
 name being brought up stairs would give her. 
 Preparation for what? When the summons came, 
 Lois went down feeling that she had not a bit of 
 preparation. 
 
 Philip was standing in the middle of the floor, 
 waiting for her; and the apparition that greeted 
 him was so unexpected that he stood still, feasting 
 his eyes with it He had always seen Lois calm, 
 collected, moving and speaking with frank inde- 
 pendence, although with perfect modesty. Now?
 
 PLANS. 651 
 
 how was it? Eyes cast down, colour coming and 
 going; a look and manner, not of shyness, for she 
 came straight to him, but of the most lovely maid- 
 enly consciousness; of all things, that which a lover 
 would most wish to see. Yet she came straight to 
 him, and as he met her and held out his hand, she 
 put hers in it. 
 
 " What are you going to say to me this morning, 
 Lois?" he said softly; for the pure dignity of the 
 girl was a thing to fill him with reverence as well 
 as with delight, and her hand seemed to him some- 
 thing sacred. 
 
 Her colour stirred again, but the lowered eyelids 
 were lifted up and the eyes met his with a most 
 blessed smile in them. 
 
 " I am very happy, Mr. Dillwyn " she said. 
 
 Everybody knows how words fail upon occasion ; 
 and on this occasion the silence lasted some con- 
 siderable time. And then Philip put Lois into one 
 of the big easy chairs, and went down on one knee 
 at her feet, holding her hand. Lois tried to collect 
 her spirits to make remonstrance. 
 
 "0 Mr. Dillwyn, do not stay there!" she begged. 
 
 "Why not? It becomes me." 
 
 " I do not think it becomes you at all," said Lois, 
 laughing a little nervously, "and I am sure it 
 does not become me." 
 
 "Mistaken on both points! It becomes me well, 
 and I think it does not become you ill," said he, 
 kissing the hand he held. And then, bending for- 
 ward to carrv his kiss from the hand to the cheek,
 
 652 NOBODY. 
 
 "0 my darling, how long I have waited for 
 
 this!" 
 
 " Long ? " said Lois in surprise. How pretty the 
 incredulity was on her innocent face. 
 
 " Very long ! while you thought I was liking 
 somebody else. There has never been any change 
 in me, Lois. I have been patiently and impatiently 
 waiting for you, this great while. You will not 
 think it unreasonable, if that fact makes me in 
 tolerant of any more waiting, will you?" 
 
 " Don't keep that position ! " said Lois earn 
 estly. 
 
 " It is the position I mean to keep all the rest 
 of my life!" 
 
 But that set Lois to laughing, a little nervously 
 no doubt, yet so merrily that Philip could not but 
 join in. 
 
 "Do I not owe everything to you?" he went 
 on presently with tender seriousness. " You first 
 set me upon thinking. Do you recollect your ear- 
 liest talk to me here in this room once, a good 
 while ago, about being satisfied ? " 
 
 " Yes " said Lois, suddenly opening her eyes. 
 
 "That was the beginning. You said it to me 
 more with your looks than with your words; for 
 I saw that, somehow, you were in the secret, and 
 had yourself what you offered to me. That I could 
 not forget. I had never seen anybody ' satisfied ' 
 before." 
 
 "You know what it means now?" she said 
 softly.
 
 PLANS. 653 
 
 To-day? I do!" 
 
 "No, no; I do not mean to-day. You know what 
 1 mean ! " she said with beautiful blushes. 
 
 " I know. Yes, and I have it, Lois. But you 
 have a great deal to teach me yet." 
 
 " Oh no ! " she said most unaffectedly. " It 18 
 you who will have to teach me." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 " How soon may I begin ? " 
 
 "How soon?" 
 
 " Yes. You do not think Mrs. Wishart's house 
 is the best place, or her company the best assist- 
 ance for that, do you ? " 
 
 " Ah, please get up ! " said Lois. 
 
 But he laughed at her. 
 
 " You make me so ashamed ! " 
 
 "You do not look it in the least. Shall I telJ 
 you my plans?" 
 
 " Plans ! " said Lois. 
 
 "Or will you tell me your plans?" 
 
 "Ah, you are laughing at me! What do you 
 mean?" * 
 
 " You were confiding to me your plans of a lit- 
 tle while ago? Esterbrooke, and school, and all 
 the rest of it. My darling ! that's all nowhere." 
 
 " But," said Lois timidly. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " That is all gone, of course. But " 
 
 " You will let me say what you shall do ? w 
 
 " T suppose you will."
 
 654 NOBODY. 
 
 "Your hand is in all my plans, from henceforth, 
 to turn them and twist them what way you like. 
 But now let me tell you my present plans. Wo 
 will be married, as soon as you can accustom your 
 self to the idea. Hush! wait. You shall have 
 time to think about it. Then, as early as spring 
 winds will let us, we will cross to England." 
 
 " England ? " cried Lois. 
 
 " Wait, and hear me out. There we will look 
 about us awhile and get such things as you may 
 want for travelling, which one can get better in 
 England than anywhere else. Then we will go 
 over the Channel and see Paris, and perhaps sup- 
 plement purchases there. So work our way " 
 
 " Always making purchases? " said Lois laugh- 
 ing, though she caught her breath too, and her 
 colour was growing high. 
 
 " Certainly, making purchases. So work our way 
 along, and get to Switzerland early in June say 
 by the end of the first week." 
 
 " Switzerland ! " 
 
 " Don't you want to see Switzerland ? " 
 
 " But it is not the question, what I might like 
 to see." 
 
 " With me, it is." 
 
 "As for that, I have an untirable appetite for 
 seeing things. But but," and her voice lowered, 
 " I can be quite happy enough on this side." 
 
 " Not if I can make you happier on the other." 
 
 " But that depends. I should not be happy un- 
 less I was quite sure it was right, and the best
 
 PLANS. 
 
 thing to do; and it looks to me like a piece of 
 self-indulgence. We have so much already." 
 
 The gentle manner of this scruple and frank 
 admission touched Mr. Dillwyn exceedingly. 
 
 " I think it is right," he said " Do you remember 
 my telling you once about my old house at home?" 
 
 "Yes, a little." 
 
 " I think I never told you much ; but now you 
 will care to hear. It is a good way from this place, 
 in Foster county, and not very far from a busy lit 
 tie manufacturing town; but it stands alone in the 
 country, in the midst of fields and woods that I 
 used to love very much when I was a boy. The 
 place never came into my possession till about sev- 
 en or eight years ago ; and for much longer than 
 that it has been neglected and left without any 
 sort of care. But the house is large and old- 
 fashioned, arid can be made very pretty; and the 
 grounds, as I think, leave nothing to be desired, 
 in their natural capabilities. However, all is in 
 disorder, and needs a good deal of work done up- 
 on it; which must be done before you take posses- 
 sion. This work will require some months. Where 
 can we be better, meanwhile, than in Switzerland? " 
 
 " Can the work be done without you ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He waited a bit. The new things at work in 
 Lois's mind made the new expression of manner and 
 feature a most delicious study to him. She had a 
 little difficulty in speaking, and he was still and 
 watched her.
 
 656 NOBODY. 
 
 " I am afraid to talk about it,*' she said at length. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I should like it so much ! " 
 
 " Therefore you doubt ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am afraid of listening just to my own 
 pleasure." 
 
 " You shall not," said he laughing. " Listen to 
 mine. I want to see your eyes open at the Jung 
 Frau, and Mont Blanc." 
 
 "My eyes open easily at anything," said Lois, 
 yielding to the laugh; "they are such ignorant 
 eyes." 
 
 " Very wise eyes, on the contrary ! for they know 
 a thing when they see it." 
 
 " But they have seen so little " said Lois, rinding 
 it impossible to get back to a serious demeanour. 
 
 " That sole defect in your character, I propose to 
 cure." 
 
 " Ah, do not praise me ! " 
 
 "Why not? I used to rejoice in the remem- 
 brance that you were not an angel but human 
 Do you know the old lines ? 
 
 " A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.' 
 
 " Only, ' wiles ' you never descend to ; ' blame ' is 
 not to be thought of; if you forbid praise, what is 
 left to me but the rest of it ? " 
 
 And truly, what with laughte: and some other
 
 PLANS. 657 
 
 emotions, tears were not far from Lois's eyes; and 
 how could the kisses be wanting ? 
 
 " I never heard you talk so before ! " she man 
 aged to say. 
 
 " I have only begun." 
 
 " Please come back to order, and sobriety." 
 
 "Sobriety is not in order, as your want of it 
 shews." 
 
 "Then come back to Switzerland." 
 
 " Ah ! I want you to go up the JEggischhorn, 
 and to stand on the Gorner Grat, and to cross a 
 pass or two; and I want you to see the flowers." 
 
 " Are there so many ? " 
 
 "More than on a western prairie in spring. 
 Most people travel in Switzerland later in the sea- 
 son, and so miss the flowers. You must not miss 
 them." 
 
 "What flowers are they?" 
 
 "A very great many kinds. I remember the 
 gentians, and the forgetmenots; but the profusion 
 is wonderful, and exceedingly rich. They grow 
 just at the edge of the snow, some of them. Then 
 we will linger awhile at Zermatt and Chamounix, 
 and a mountain pension here and there, and so 
 slowly work our way over into Italy. It will be 
 too late for Rome; but we will go, if you like it, to 
 Venice; and then as the heats grow greater get 
 back into the Tyrol." 
 
 "0 Mrs. Barclay had beautiful views from the 
 Tyrol; a few, but very beautiful." 
 
 "How do you like my programme?"
 
 658 NOBODY. 
 
 " You have not mentioned glaciers." 
 
 " Are you interested in glaciers ? " 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " You shall see as much of them as you can see 
 safely from terra firma." 
 
 "Are they so dangerous?" 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " But you have crossed them, have you not ? " 
 
 "Times enough to make me scruple about your 
 doing it." 
 
 " I am very sure-footed." 
 
 He kissed her hand, and inquired again what she 
 thought of his programme ? 
 
 "There is no fault to be found with the pro- 
 gramme. But " 
 
 " If I add to it the crossing of a glacier ? " 
 
 "No, no," said Lois laughing; "do you think I 
 am so insatiable? But " 
 
 " Would you like it all, my darling ? " 
 
 " Like it ? Don't speak of liking," she said with 
 a quick breath of excitement. " But " 
 
 "Well? But what?" 
 
 " We are not going to live to ourselves ? " She 
 said it a little anxiously and eagerly, almost plead- 
 ingly. 
 
 "I do not mean it," he answered her with a 
 smile. "But as to this journey my mind is entire- 
 ly clear. It will take but a few months. And 
 while we are wandering over the mountains, you 
 and I will take our Bibles and -study them and our 
 work together. We can study where we stop to
 
 PLANS. 659 
 
 rest and where we stop to eat; T know by experi- 
 ence what good times and places those are for 
 other reading; and they cannot be so good for any 
 as for this." 
 
 " Oh ! how good ! " said Lois, giving a little de- 
 lighted and grateful pressure to the hand in which 
 her own still lay. 
 
 "You agree to my plans, then?" 
 
 " I agree to part. What is that?" for a slight 
 noise was heard in the hall. " Philip, get up ! 
 get up ! there is somebody coming ! " 
 
 Mr. Dillvvyn rose now, being bidden on this 
 wise, and stood confronting the doorway, in which 
 presently appeared his sister, Mrs. Burrage. He 
 stood quiet and calm to meet her; while Lois, hid- 
 den by the back of the great easy chair had a mo- 
 ment to collect herself. He shielded her as much 
 as he could. A swift review of the situation made 
 him resolve for the present to "play dark." He 
 could not trust his sister, that if the truth of Ue 
 case were suddenly made known to her, she would 
 not by her speech, or manner, or by her silence 
 maybe, do something that would hurt Lois. He 
 would not risk it. Give her time, and she would 
 fit herself to her circumstances gracefully enough, 
 he knew ; and Lois need never be told what had 
 been her sister-in-law's first view of them. So he 
 stood, with an unconcerned face, watching Mrs. 
 Bun-age come down the room. And she, it may 
 be said, came slowly, watching him.
 
 CHAPTER XI VIII. 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 
 
 I HAVE never described Mr. Dillwyn; and it 1 
 try to do it now, I am aware that words will 
 give to nobody else the image of him. He was not 
 a beauty, like Tom Caruthers; some people de- 
 clared him not handsome at all, yet they were in 
 a minority. Certainly his features were not ac- 
 cording to classical rule, and criticism might find 
 something to say to every one of them; if I ex 
 cept the shape and air of the face and head, the 
 set of the latter, and the rich hair; which, very 
 drk in colour, massed itself thick and high on the 
 top of the head, and clung in close thick locks at 
 the sides. The head sat nobly upon the shoulders, 
 and correspondent therewith was the frank and 
 manly expression of the face. I think irregular 
 features sometimes make a better whole than reg- 
 ular ones. Philip's eyes were not remarkable, un- 
 less for their honest and spirited outlook; his nose 
 was neither Roman nor Grecian, and his mouth 
 was rather large; however it was somewhat con 
 
 cealed by the long soft moustache, which he wore 
 
 < WO )
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 661 
 
 after the fashion of some Continentals (N. B., not 
 like the French emperor) carefully dressed and with 
 points turning up; and the mouth itself was both 
 manly and pleasant. Altogether,, the people who 
 denied Mr. Dillwyn the praise of beauty, never ques- 
 tioned that he was very fine-looking. His sister was 
 excessively proud of him, and, naturally, thought 
 that nothing less than the best of everything 
 more especially of womankind, was good enough 
 for him. She was thinking this now, as she camu 
 down the room, and looking jealously to see signs 
 of what she dreaded, an entanglement that would 
 preclude for ever his having the best. Do not let 
 us judge her hardly. What sister is not critical 
 of her brother's choice of a wife ? if indeed she be 
 willing that he should have a wife at all. Mrs. 
 Burrage watched for signs, but saw nothing. Phil- 
 ip stood there, calmly smiling at her, not at all 
 flustered by her appearance. Lois saw his cool- 
 ness too, and envied it; feeling that as a man, and 
 as a man of the world, he had greatly the advan- 
 tage of her. She was nervous, and felt flushed. 
 However there is a power of will in some women 
 which can do a great deal, and Lois was deter- 
 mined that Mr. Dillwyn should not be ashamed of 
 her. By the time it was needful for her to rise she 
 did rise, and faced her visitor with a very quiet and 
 perfectly composed manner. Only, if anything, it 
 was a trifle too quiet; but her manner was other- 
 rise quite faultless. 
 
 " Philip ! " said Mrs. Burrage advancing.
 
 t62 NOBODY. 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Lothrop. Philip, what are 
 you doing here ? " 
 
 " I believe you asked me that question once on 
 a former occasion. Then, I think 1 had been mak- 
 ing toast. Now, I have been telling Miss Lothrop 
 my plans for the summer, since she was so good 
 as to listen." 
 
 " Plans ? " repeated Mrs. Burrage. " What plans ? " 
 She looked doubtfully from one to the other of the 
 faces before her. "Does he tell you his plans, 
 Miss Lothrop ? " 
 
 "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois. 
 " I am always interested when anybody speaks of 
 Switzerland." 
 
 " Switzerland ! " cried the lady, sinking into a 
 chair, and her eyes going to her brother again. 
 "You are not talking of Switzerland for next 
 summer?" 
 
 <l Where can one be better in summer?" 
 
 " But you have been there ever so many times ! " 
 
 "By which I know how good it will be to go 
 again." 
 
 " I thought you would spend the summer with 
 me!" 
 
 "Where?" he asked with a smile. 
 
 " Philip, I wish you would dress your hair like 
 other people." 
 
 " It defies dressing, sister," he said, passing his 
 hand over the thick mass. 
 
 "No, no, I mean your moustache. When you 
 emile, it gives you a demoniac expression, which
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 663 
 
 drives me out of all jpatience. Miss Lothrop, 
 would he not look a great deal better if he would 
 cut off those Hungarian twists, and wear his upper 
 lip like a Christian ? " 
 
 This was a trial ! Lois gave one glance at the 
 moustache in question, a glance compounded of 
 mingled horror and amusement, and flushed all 
 over. Philip saw the glance and commanded his 
 features only by a strong exertion of will, remain- 
 ing however to all seeming as impassive as a 
 judge. 
 
 "You don't think so?" said Mrs. Burrage. 
 " Philip, why are you not at that picture sale this 
 minute, with me ? " 
 
 " Why are you not there, let me ask, this minute 
 without me ? " 
 
 " Because I wanted you to tell me if I should buy 
 in that Murillo." 
 
 " I can tell you as well here as there. What do 
 you want to buy it for ? " 
 
 " What a question! Why they say it is a genuine 
 Murillo, and no doubt about it; and I have just one 
 place on the wall in my second drawing room, 
 where something is wanting; there is one place not 
 fille^ up, and it looks badly." 
 
 " And the Murillo is to fill up the vacant space?" 
 
 " Yes. If you say it is worth it." 
 
 "Worth what?" 
 
 "The money. Five hundred. But I dare say 
 they would take four, and perhaps three. It is a 
 real Murillo, they say. Everybody says."
 
 (564 NOBODY. 
 
 " Jessie, I think it would be extravagance." 
 
 " Extravagance ! Five Eundred dollars for a Mu- 
 rillo ! Why everybody says it is no price at all." 
 
 " Not for the Murillo ; but for a wall panel, I think 
 it is. What do you say, Miss Lothrop, to panelling 
 a room at five hundred dollars the panel?" 
 
 " Miss Lothrop's experience in panels would 
 hardly qualify her to answer you," Mrs. Burrage 
 said, with a polite covert sneer. 
 
 " Miss Lothrop has experience in some other 
 things," Philip returned immoveably. But the 
 appeal put Lois in great embarrassment. 
 
 "What is the picture?" she asked, as the best 
 way out of it. 
 
 "It's a St. Sebastian," Mrs. Burrage answered 
 shortly. 
 
 " Do you know the story ? " asked Philip. " He 
 was an officer in the household of the Roman em- 
 peror, Diocletian; a Clmstian; and discovered to 
 be a Christian by his bold and faithful daring in 
 the cause of truth. Diocletian ordered him to be 
 bound to a tree and shot to death with arrows, and 
 that the insci'iption over his head should state that 
 there was no fault found in him but only that he 
 was a Christian. This picture my sister wants to 
 buy, shews him stripped and bound to the tree, and 
 the executioner's work going on. Arrows are pierc- 
 ing him in various places; and the saint's fa.ce is 
 raised to heaven with the look upon it of struggling 
 pain and triumphing faith together. You can see 
 that the struggle is sharp, and that only strength
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 665 
 
 which is i:ot his own enables him to hold out; but 
 you see that he will hold out, and the martyr's palm 
 of victory is even already waving before him." 
 
 Lois's eyes eagerly looked into those of the speaker 
 while he went on ; then they fell silently. Mrs. Bur- 
 rage grew impatient. 
 
 "You tell it with a certain gout" she said. "Its 
 a horrid story ! " 
 
 " 0, it's a beautiful story ! " said Lois suddenly 
 looking up. 
 
 " If you like horrors," said the lady shrugging 
 her shoulders. " But I believe you are one of that 
 kind yourself, are you not ? " 
 
 " Liking horrors ? " said Lois in astonishment. 
 
 " No, no, of course ! not that. But I mean, you 
 are one of that saint's spiritual relations. Are you 
 not ? You would rather be shot than live easy ? " 
 
 Philip bit his lip ; but Lois answered with the 
 most delicious simplicity, 
 
 "If living easy implied living unfaithful, I hope 
 I would rather be shot." Her eyes looked as she 
 spoke straight and quietly into those of her visiter. 
 
 " And I hope I would," added Philip. 
 
 " You?" said his sister, turning sharp upon 
 him. " Everybody knows you would ! " 
 
 "But everybody does not know yet that I am 
 a fellow-servant of that Sebastian of long ago; and 
 that to me now, faithful and unfaithful mean the 
 same that they meant to him. Not faithfulness to 
 man, but faithfulness to God or unfaithfulness.' 
 
 " Philip ! "
 
 666 NOBODY. 
 
 " And as faithfulness is a word of large compre- 
 hension, it takes in also the use of money," Mr. 
 Dillwyn went on smiling; " and so, Jessie, I think, 
 you see, with my new views of things, that five 
 hundred dollars is too much for a panel." 
 
 " Or for a picture, I suppose ! " said Mrs. Burrage 
 with dry concentrated expression. 
 
 "Depends. Decidedly too much for a picture 
 not meant to be looked at ? " 
 
 " Why shouldn't it be looked at? " 
 
 " People will not look much at what they can- 
 not understand." 
 
 "Why shouldn't they understand it?" 
 
 " It is a representation of giving up all for Christ, 
 and of faithfulness unto death. What do the 
 crowds who fill your second drawing room know 
 about such experience ? " 
 
 Mrs. Burrage had put the foregoing questions 
 dryly and shortly, examining her brother while he 
 spoke, with intent, searching eyes. She had risen 
 once, as if to go, and now sat down again. Lois 
 thought she even turned pale. 
 
 " Philip ! I never heard you talk so before. 
 What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Merely to let you know that I am a Christian. 
 It is time." 
 
 " You were always a Christian ! " 
 
 " In name. Now it is reality." 
 
 " You don't mean that you you ! have become 
 one of those fanatics ? " 
 
 ' What fanatics?"
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 667 
 
 " Those people who give up everything for relig 
 ion, and are insane upon the subject." = 
 
 "You could not have described it better, than in 
 the first half of your speech. I have given up 
 everything for religion. That is, I have given 
 myself and all I have to Christ and his service; 
 and whatever I do henceforth, I do only in that 
 character and in that interest. But as to sanity, 
 he smiled again, " I think I was never sane until 
 now." 
 
 Mrs. Burrage had risen for the second time, and 
 her brother was now standing opposite to her; and 
 if she had been proud of him a little while before, 
 it was Lois's turn now. The calm, clear frankness 
 and nobleness of his face and bearing made her 
 heart fairly swell with its gladness and admiration; 
 but it filled the other woman's heart with a differ- 
 ent feeling. 
 
 " And this is you, Philip Dillwyn ! " she said bit- 
 terly. "And I know you; what you have said you 
 will stand to. Such a man as you ! lost to the 
 world ! " 
 
 "Why lost to the world, Mrs. Burrage?" said 
 Lois gently. She had risen too. The other lady 
 faced her. 
 
 "Without more knowledge of what the world is, 
 I could hardly explain to you," she said with cool 
 rudeness; the sort of insolence that a fine lady can 
 use upon occasion when it suits her. Philip's face 
 flushed, but he would not make the rudeness more 
 palpable by seeming to notice it.
 
 6G8 NOBODY. 
 
 " I hope it is the other way," he said. " I have 
 been an i(Jle man all my life hitherto, and have 
 done nothing except for myself. Nobody could be 
 of less use to the world." 
 
 "And what are you going to do now?" 
 
 "I cannot tell. I shall find out. I am going to 
 study the question." 
 
 " And is Miss Lothrop your teacher ? " 
 
 The civil sneer was too apparent again, but it 
 did not call up a flush this time. Philip was too 
 angry. It was Lois that answered, and pleasantly, 
 
 "She does not even wish to be that." 
 
 " Haven't you taught him already ? " asked the 
 lady with prompt inquisition. 
 
 " Yes," said Philip. 
 
 Lois did colour now; she could not deny the 
 fact, nor even declare that it had been an uninten- 
 tional fact; but her colour was very pretty, and so 
 was the sort of deprecating way in which she 
 looked at her future sister-in-law. Not disarmed, 
 Mrs. Burrage went on. 
 
 "It is a dangerous office to take, my dear, for 
 we women never can keep it. We may think we 
 stand on an eminence of wisdom one day; and the 
 next we find we have to come down to a very 
 lowly place, and sit at somebody else's feet, and 
 receive our orders. I find it rather hard sometimes, 
 Well Philip, will you go on with the lesson I sup- 
 pose I have interrupted? or will you have the com 
 plaisance to go with me to see about the Murillc?" 
 
 "I will certainly stay."
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 669 
 
 " Rather hard upon me, after promising me last 
 night you would go." 
 
 " I made no such promise." 
 
 "Indeed you did, begging your pardon. Last 
 night, when you came home with the horses, I 
 told you of the sale, and asked you if you would 
 go and see that I did not get cheated." 
 
 " I have no recollection of it." 
 
 " And you said you would with pleasure." 
 
 " That is no longer possible, Jessie. And the 
 sale would be over before we could get to it," he 
 added, looking at his watch. 
 
 " Shall I leave you here, then ? " said the lady, 
 with a mingling of disagreeable feelings which 
 found indescribable expression. 
 
 " If Miss Lothrop will let me be left. You for- 
 get, it depends upon her permission." 
 
 " Miss Lothrop," said the lady, offering her hand 
 to Lois with formal politeness, " I do not ask you 
 the question, for my brother all his life has never 
 been refused anything he chose to demand. Par 
 don me my want of attention; he is responsible 
 for it, having upset all my ideas with his strange 
 announcements. Good bye ! " 
 
 Lois courtseyed silently. In all this dialogue, 
 the contrast had been striking between the two 
 ladies; for the advantage of manner had been on 
 the side, not of the experienced woman of the 
 world, but of the younger and simpler and country- 
 bred little Shampuashuh woman. It comes to this; 
 that the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians
 
 670 NOBODY. 
 
 gives one the very soul and essence of what in 
 the world is called good breeding; the kernel and 
 thing itself; while what is for the most part known 
 in society is the empty shell, simulating and coun- 
 terfeiting it only. Therefore he in whose heart 
 that thirteenth chapter is a living truth, will never 
 be ill-bred; and if he possesses besides a sensitive 
 and refined nature, and is free of self consciousness, 
 and has some common sense to boot, he has all 
 the make-up of the veriest high-breeding. Nothing 
 could seem more unruffled, because nothing could 
 be more unruffled, than Lois during this whole 
 interview; she was even a little sorry for Mrs. 
 Burrage, knowing that the lady would be very 
 sorry herself afterwards for what she had done; 
 and Lois meant to bury it in perfect oblivion. So 
 her demeanour was free, simple, dignified, most 
 graceful; and Philip was penetrated with delight 
 and shame at once. He went with his sister to 
 put her in her carriage, which was done with 
 scarce any words on either part ; and then returned 
 to the room where he had left Lois. She was 
 still standing beside her chair, having in truth 
 her thoughts too busy to remember to sit down. 
 Philip's action was to come straight to her and 
 fold his arms round her. They were arms of 
 caressing and protection at once; Lois felt both 
 the caressing and the protecting clasp, as some- 
 thing her life had never known before; and a thrill 
 went through her, of happiness that was almost 
 mingled with awe.
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 671 
 
 "My darling! " said Philip "witt you hold 
 me responsible? Will you charge it all upon 
 me? and let me make it good as best I can?" 
 
 " Philip, there is nothing to charge ! " said 
 Lois, lifting her flushed face, "fair as the moon," 
 to meet his anxious eyes. "Do not think of it 
 again. It is perfectly natural, from her point of 
 view. You know, you are very much Somebody; 
 and I am Nobody." 
 
 The remainder of the interview may be left 
 unreported. 
 
 It lasted till the two ladies returned from the 
 matinee. Mrs. Wishart immediately retained Mr. 
 Dillwyn for luncheon, and the two girls went up 
 stairs together. 
 
 " How long has that man been here ? " was 
 Madge's disrespectful inquiry. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " What did he come for?" 
 
 " I suppose to see me." 
 
 "To see you! Did he come to take you sleigh 
 riding again ? " 
 
 " He said nothing about sleigh riding." 
 
 "The snow is all slush down in the city. What 
 did he want to see you for then?" said Madge, 
 turning round upon her sister, while at the same 
 time she was endeavouring to extricate her head 
 from her bonnet, which was caught upon a pin. 
 
 "He had something to say to me " Lois an- 
 swered, trembling with an odd sort of excitement. 
 
 "What? Lois, not that?" cried Madge, stop
 
 072 NOBODY. 
 
 ping with her bonnet only half off her head. But 
 Lois nodded*; and Madge dropped herself into the 
 nearest chair, making no further effort as regarded 
 the bonnet. 
 
 " Lois ! What did you say to him ?" 
 
 "What could I say to him?" 
 
 " Why, two or three things, / should think, 
 it was I, I should think so." 
 
 " There can be but one answer to such a ques- 
 tion. It must be yes or no." 
 
 " I am sure that's two to choose from. Have 
 you gone and said yes to that man ? " 
 
 ' Don't you like him ? " said Lois with a furtive 
 smile, glancing up at her sister now from under 
 lowered eyelids. 
 
 " Like him ! I never saw the man yet, that I 
 liked as well as my liberty." 
 
 " Liberty ! 
 
 " Yes. Have you forgotten already what that 
 means? Lois! have you said yes to that man? 
 Why I am always afraid of him, every time I see 
 him." 
 
 " Afraid of him ? " 
 
 "Yes. I get over it after he has been in the~ 
 room a while; but the next time I see him it comes 
 back. Lois ! are you going to let him have you ? " 
 
 "Madge, you are talking most dreadful non- 
 sense. You never were afraid of anybody in your 
 life ; and of him least of all." 
 
 " Fact, though," said Madge, beginning at her 
 bonnet again. " It's the way his head is set on
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 673 
 
 his shoulders, I suppose. If I had known what 
 was happening, while I was listening to Mme. 
 Cisco's screeching ! " 
 
 " You couldn't have helped it." 
 "And now, now, actually you belong to some- 
 body else ! Lois, when are you going to be married ? " 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Not for a great while? Not soon, at any rate?" 
 "I don't know. Mr. Dillwyn wishes " 
 " And are you going to do everything he wishes? " 
 " As far as I can " said Lois, with again a rosy 
 smile and glance. 
 
 " There's the call to luncheon ! " said Madge. 
 " People must eat, if they're ever so happy or ever 
 so unhappy. It is one of the disgusting things 
 about human nature. I just wish he wasn't going 
 to be here. Well corne along ! " 
 
 Madge went ahead till she reached the drawing 
 room door; there she suddenly paused, waved her- 
 self to one side, and let Lois go in before her. Lois 
 was promptly wrapped in Mrs. Wishart's arms, and 
 had to endure a most warm and heartfelt embrac- 
 ing and congratulating. The lady was delighted. 
 Meanwhile Madge found herself shaking hands with 
 Philip. 
 
 " You know all about it ? " he said, looking hard 
 at her, and holding her hand fast. 
 
 "If you mean what Lois has told me " 
 " Are not you going to wish me joy ? " 
 "There is no occasion, for anybody who has 
 got Lois," said Madge. And then she choked,
 
 >>74 NOBODY. 
 
 pulled her hand away, and broke down. And 
 when Lois got free from Mrs. Wishart, she saw 
 Madge sitting with her head in her hands, and 
 Mr. Dillwyn bending over her. Lois came swiftly 
 behind and put both arms softly around her sister. 
 
 " It's no use ! " said Madge sobbing and yet 
 defiant. "He has got you, and I haven't got 
 you any longer. Let me alone I am not going 
 to be a fool, but to be asked to wish him joy is 
 too much." And she broke away and ran off. 
 
 Lois could have followed her with all her heart; 
 but she had herself habitually under better control 
 than Madge, and knew with fine instinct what was 
 due to others. Her eyes glistened'; nevertheless 
 her bearing was quiet and undisturbed ; and a sec- 
 ond time to-day Mr. Dillwyn was charmed with 
 the grace of her manner. I must add that Madge 
 presently made her appearance again, and was soon 
 as gay as usual; her lucubrations even going so 
 far before the end of luncheon as to wonder ivhere 
 Lois would hold her wedding. Will she fetch all 
 the folks down here? thought Madge. Or will 
 everybody go to Shampuashuh ? 
 
 With the decision however the reader need not 
 be troubled.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 ON THE PASS. 
 
 ONLY one incident more need be told. It is the 
 last point in my story. 
 
 The intermediate days and months must be 
 passed over, and we skip the interval to the sum- 
 mer and June. It is now the middle of June. Mr. 
 Dillwyii's programme had been successfully carried 
 out; and after an easy and most festive journey 
 from England, through France, he and Lois had 
 come by gentle stages to Switzerland. A festive 
 journey, yes; but the expression regards the men- 
 tal progress rather than the apparent. Mr. Dill wyn, 
 being an old traveller, took things with the calm 
 habit of use and wont; and Lois, new as all was 
 to her, made no more fussy demonstration than he 
 did. All the more delicious to him, and satisfac- 
 tory, were the sparkles in her eyes and the flushes 
 on her cheeks, which constantly witnessed to her 
 pure delight or interest in something. All the 
 more happily he felt the grasp of her hand some- 
 times when she did not speak; or listened to the 
 
 low accents- of rapture when she saw something 
 
 (675)
 
 676 NOBODY. 
 
 that deserved them ; or to her merry soft laugh at 
 something that touched her sense of fun. For he 
 found Lois had a great sense of fun. She was al- 
 together of the most buoyant, happy, and enjoy- 
 ing nature possible. No one could be a better 
 traveller. She ignored discomforts, (truly there 
 had not been much in that line) and she laughed 
 at disappointments; and travellers must meet dis- 
 appointments now and then. So Mr. Dillwyn had 
 found the journey giving him all he had promised 
 himself; and to Lois it gave well Lois's dreams 
 had never promised her the quarter. 
 
 So it had come to be the middle of June, and 
 they were in Switzerland. And this day, the six- 
 teenth, found them in a little wayside inn near the 
 top of a pass, snowed up. So far they had come, 
 the last mile or two through a heavy storm ; and 
 then the snow clouds had descended so low and so 
 thick, and gave forth their treasures of snow flakes 
 so confusedly and incessantly, that going on was 
 not to be thought of. They were sheltered in the 
 little inn ; and that is nearly all you could say of 
 it, for the accommodations were of the smallest and 
 simplest. Travellers were not apt to stop at that 
 little hostelry for more than a passing refreshment; 
 and even so, it was too early in the season for 
 many travellers to be expected. So there were 
 Philip and his wife now, making the best of thinga. 
 Mr. Dillwyn was coaxing the little fire to burn, 
 which had been hastily made on their arrival ; but 
 Lois sat at one of the windows looking out, and
 
 ON THE PASS. 677 
 
 ever} - now and then proclaiming her erijoyment by 
 the tone in which some innocent remark came 
 from her lips. 
 
 " It is raining now, Philip." 
 
 " What do you see in the rain?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever, at this minute ; but a little 
 while ago there was a kind of drawing aside of the 
 thick curtain of falling snow, and I had a view 
 of some terribly grand rocks, and one glimpse of a 
 most wonderful distance." 
 
 " Vague distance ? " said Philip laughing. " That 
 sounds like looking off into space." 
 
 "Well it was. Like chaos, and order struggling 
 out of its awful beginnings." 
 
 "Don't unpractically catch cold, while you are 
 studying natural developement." 
 
 " I am perfectly warm. I think it is great fun to 
 be kept here over night. Such a nice little place 
 as it is, and such a nice little hostess. Do you no- 
 tice how neat everything is? Philip! here is 
 somebody else coming ! " 
 
 " Coming to the inn ? " 
 
 "Yes. I'm afraid so. Here's one of these original 
 little carnages crawling along, and it has stopped, 
 and the people are getting out. Poor storm-stayed 
 people, like ourselves." 
 
 "They will come to a fire, which we didn't," said 
 Philip, leaving his post now and placing himself at 
 the back of Lois's chair, where he too could see 
 what was going on in front of the house. A queer 
 little vehicle had certainly stopped there, and some-
 
 678 NOBODY. 
 
 body very much muffled had got out, and was now 
 helping a second person to alight, which second 
 person must be a woman ; and she was followed by 
 another woman, who alighted with less difficulty 
 and less attention though she had two or three 
 things to carry. 
 
 " I pity women who travel in the Alps with their 
 maids!" said Mr. Dillwyn. 
 
 " Philip, that first one, the gentleman, had a little 
 bit -just a little bit the air of your friend Mr. 
 Caruthers. He was so muffled up, one could not 
 tell what he was like; but somehow he reminded 
 me of Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 " I thought Tom was your friend? " 
 
 "Friend? no. He was an acquaintance; he was 
 never my friend, I think." 
 
 " Then his name raises no tender associations in 
 your mind? " 
 
 " Why no ! " said Lois with a gay little laugh. 
 " No indeed. But I liked him very well at one time ; 
 and I think he liked me." 
 
 " Poor Tom ! " 
 
 "Why do you say that?" Lois asked merrily. 
 "He is not poor; he has married a Dulcimer. I 
 never can hear her name without thinking of Neb- 
 uchadnezzar's image! He has forgotten me long 
 ago." 
 
 " I see you have forgotten him," said Dillwyn, 
 bending down till his face was very near Lois's. 
 
 "How should I not? But I did like him at one 
 time, quite well. I suppose I was flattered by his
 
 ON THE PASS. (579 
 
 attentions, which I think were rather marked And 
 you know, at that time I did not know you." 
 
 Lois' s voice fell a little; the last sentence being 
 given with a delicate, sweet reserve, which spoke 
 much more than effusion. Philip's answer was mute. 
 
 " Besides," said Lois, " he is a sort of man that I 
 never could have liked beyond a certain point. 
 He is a weak character; do you know it, Philip?" 
 
 "I know it. I observe, that is the last fault 
 women will forgive in a man." 
 
 "Why should they?" said Lois. "What have 
 you, where you have not strength ? It is impossi- 
 ble to love where you cannot respect. Or if you 
 love, it is a poor, contemptible sort of love." 
 
 Philip laughed; and just then the door opened, 
 and the hostess of the inn appeared on the thresh- 
 hold, with other figures looming dimly behind her. 
 She came in apologizing. More storm-bound trav- 
 ellers had arrived there was no other room with 
 a fire ready would monsieur and madame be so 
 gracious and allow the strangers to come in and get 
 warm and dry by their fire? Almost before she 
 had finished her speech the two men had sprung 
 towards each other, and " Tom ! " " Philip Dil- 
 Iwyn ! " had been cried in different tones of sur- 
 prised greeting. 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " said Tom, shaking 
 his friend's hand. " What a chance ! Here is my 
 wife. Arabella, this is Mr. Dillvvyn, whose name 
 you have heard often enough. At the top of this 
 pass !
 
 680 NOBODY. 
 
 The lady thus addressed carne in behind Tom, 
 throwing off her wrappings, and throwing each, or 
 dropping it as it was taken off, into the hands of 
 her attendant who followed her. She appeared now 
 to be a slim person, of medium height, dressed very 
 handsomely, with an insignificant face and a quan- 
 tity of light hair disposed in a mysterious manner 
 to look like a wig. That is, it looked like nothing 
 natural, and yet could not be resolved by the cur- 
 ious eye into bands or braids or any defined form 
 of fashionable art or artifice. The face looked fretted, 
 and returned Mr. Dillwyn's salutation discontent- 
 edly. Tom's eye meanwhile had wandered, with 
 an unmistakeable air of apprehension, towards the 
 fourth member of the party ; and Lois came forward 
 now, giving him a frank greeting and holding out her 
 hand. Tom bowed very low over it, without say- 
 ing one word; and Philip noted that his eye shunned 
 Lois's face, and that his own face was all shadowed 
 when he raised it. Mr. Dillwyn put himself in 
 between. 
 
 " May I present my wife, Mrs. Caruthers ? " 
 
 Mrs. Caruthers gave Lois a look, swift and 
 dissatisfied, and turned to the fire shivering. 
 
 " Have we got to stay here ? " she asked quer- 
 ulously. 
 
 "We coiildn't go on, you know," said Tom. 
 " We may be glad of any sort of a shelter. I am 
 afraid we are interfering with your comfort, Philip 
 but really, we couldn't help it. The storm's awful 
 outside. Mrs. Caruthers was sure we should be
 
 ON THE PASS. 681 
 
 overtaken by an avalanche; and then she was 
 certain there must be a crevasse somewhere. I 
 wonder if one can get anything to eat in this 
 place ? " 
 
 "Make yourself easy; they have promised us 
 dinner, and you shall share with us. What the 
 dinner will be, I cannot say; but we shall not 
 starve; and you see what a fire I have coaxed 
 up for you. Take this chair, Mrs. Caru there." 
 
 The lady sat down and hovered over the fire; 
 and Tom restlessly bustled in and out. Mr. Dil- 
 Iwyn tended the fire, and Lois kept a little in the 
 background. Till after an uncomfortable interval 
 the hostess came in, bringing the very simple fare 
 which was all she had to set before them. Brown 
 bread, and cheese, and coffee, and a common sort 
 of red wine; with a bit of cold salted meat, the 
 precise antecedents of which it was not so easy 
 to divine. The lady by the fire looked on dis- 
 dainfully, and Tom hastened to supplement things 
 from their own stores. Cold game, white bread, 
 and better wine were produced from somewhere, 
 with hard boiled eggs and even some fruit. Mrs. 
 Caruthers sat by the fire and looked on; while 
 Tom brought these articles, one after another, 
 and Lois arranged the table. Philip watched her 
 covertly; admired her lithe figure in its neat moun- 
 tain dress, which he thought became her charm- 
 ingly; admired the quiet, delicate tact of her whole 
 manner and bearing; the grace with which she 
 acted and spoke, as well as the pretty deftness ol
 
 b'82 NOBODY. 
 
 her ministrations about the table. She was taking 
 the part of hostess, and doing it with simple dignity; 
 and he was very sorry for Tom. Tom, he observed, 
 would not see her when he could help it. But 
 they had to all gather round the table together 
 and face each other generally. 
 
 "This is improper luxury for the mountains," 
 Dillwyn said. 
 
 "Mrs. Caruthers thinks it best to be always 
 provided for occasions. These small houses, you 
 know, they can't give you any but small fare." 
 
 " Small fare is good for you ! " 
 
 "Good for you" said Tom, "all right; but my 
 Arabella cannot eat things if they are too small. 
 That cheese, now ! " 
 
 " It is quite passable." 
 
 "Where are you going, Philip?" 
 
 " Bound for the ^Eggischhorn, in the first place." 
 
 " You are never going up? " 
 
 " Why not ? " Lois asked with her bright smile. 
 Tom glanced at her from under his brows and 
 grew as dark as a thundercloud. She was minis- 
 tering to Tom's wife, in the prettiest way; not 
 assuming anything, and yet acting in a certain 
 sort as mistress of ceremonies. And Mrs. Caru- 
 thers was coming out of her apathy every now and 
 then, and looking at her in a curious attentive 
 way. I dare say it struck Tom hard. For he 
 could not but see, that to all her natural sweetness 
 Lois had added now a full measure of the ease 
 and grace which come from the habit of society,
 
 ON THE PASS. 683 
 
 and which Lois herself had once admired in the 
 ladies of his family. u Ay, oven they wouldn't 
 say she was nobody now ! " he said to himself 
 bitterly. And Philip, he saw, was so accustomed 
 to this fact, that he took it as a matter of course. 
 
 " Where are you going after the ./Eggischhorn ? " 
 he went on, to say something. 
 
 "We mean to work our way, by degrees, to 
 Zermatt." 
 
 " We are going to Zermatt," Mrs. Caruthers put 
 in blandly. " We might travel in company." 
 
 " Can you walk ? " asked Philip smiling. 
 
 "Walk!" 
 
 " Yes. We do it on foot." 
 
 " What for ? Pray, pardon me ! But are you 
 serious ? " 
 
 " I am in earnest, if that is what you mean. We 
 do not look upon it in a serious light. It's rather 
 a jollification." 
 
 " It is far the pleasantest way, Mrs. Caruthers, " 
 Lois added. 
 
 " But do you travel without any baggage ? " 
 
 " Not quite," said Lois demurely. " We generally 
 send that on ahead, except what will go in small 
 satchels slung over the shoulder." 
 
 " And take what you can find at the little inns?" 
 
 "O yes; and fare very well." 
 
 "I like to be comfortable!" sighed the other 
 lady. " Try that wine, and see how much better it 
 i&" 
 
 "Thank you, no; I prefer the coffee."
 
 584 NOBODY. 
 
 "No use to ask her to take wine," growled Tom. 
 " I know she won't. She never would. She has 
 principles. Offer it to Mr. Dillwyn." 
 
 "You do me the honour to suppose me without 
 principles," said Philip dryly. 
 
 '' I don't suppose you hold her principles," said 
 Tom, indicating Lois rather awkwardly by the pro- 
 noun rather than in any more definite way. "You 
 never used." 
 
 "Quite true; I never used. But I do it now." 
 
 " Do you mean that you have given up drinking 
 wine ? " 
 
 "I have given it up " said Philip, smiling at 
 Tom's air, which was almost of consternation. 
 
 " Because she don't like it ? " 
 
 " I hope I would give up a greater thing than 
 that, if she did not like it," said Philip gravely. 
 "This seems to me not a great thing. But the rea- 
 son you suppose is not my reason." 
 
 " If the reason isn't a secret, I wish you'd men- 
 tion it; Mrs. Caruthers will be asking me in pri- 
 vate, by and by; and I do not like her to ask me 
 questions I cannot answer." 
 
 " My reason is, I think it does more harm than 
 good." 
 
 "Wine?" 
 
 "Wine, and its congeners." 
 
 "Take a cup of coffee, Mr. Caruthers," said 
 Lois; "and confess it will do instead of the other 
 thing." 
 
 Tom accepted the coffee; I don't think he could
 
 ON THE PASS. t>85 
 
 have rejected anything she held out to him; but he 
 remarked grumly, to Philip, as he took it, 
 
 " It is easy to see where you got your principles ! " 
 
 " Less easy than you think," Philip answered. " I 
 got them from no living man or woman, though I 
 grant you, Lois shewed me the way to them. I got 
 them from the Bible, old friend." 
 
 Tom glared at the speaker. 
 
 " Have you given up your cigars too ? " 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn laughed out, and Lois said some- 
 what exultantly, 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Caruthers." 
 
 " I am sure, I wish you would too ! " said Tom's 
 wife deploringly to her husband. " I think if any- 
 thing's horrid, it's the after smell of tobacco." 
 
 " But the^rs^ taste of it is all the comfort a fel- 
 low gets in this world," said Tom. 
 
 "No fellow ought to say that," his friend re- 
 turned. 
 
 " The Bible ! " Tom repeated, as if it were a hard 
 pill to swallow. " Philip Dillwyn quoting that old 
 authority ! " 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to .go a little further, and say, 
 Tom, that my quoting it is not a matter of form. 
 I have taken service in the Christian army, since 1 
 saw you the last time. Now tell me how you and 
 Mrs. Caruthers come to be at the top of this pass in 
 a snow storm on the sixteenth of June ? " 
 
 " Fate ! " said Tom. 
 
 "We did not expect to have a snow storm, Mr. 
 Dill vyn." Mrs. Caruthers added.
 
 686 NOBODY. 
 
 " But you might," said Philip. "There have been 
 enow storms everywhere in Switzerland this year." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " we did not come for pleas- 
 ure anyhow. Never should dream of it, until a 
 month later. But Mrs. Caruthers got word that a 
 special friend of hers would be at Zermatt by a cer- 
 tain day, and begged to meet her; and stay was 
 uncertain ; and so we took what was said to be the 
 shortest way from where the letter found us. And 
 here we are." 
 
 "How is the coffee, Mr. Caruthers?" Lois asked 
 pleasantly. Tom looked into the depths of his coffee 
 cup, as if it were an abstraction, and then answered, 
 that it was the best coffee he had ever had in Switz- 
 erland; and upon that he turned determinately to 
 Mr. Dillwyn and began to talk of other things, 
 unconnected with Switzerland or the present time. 
 Lois was fain to entertain Tom's wife. The two 
 women had little in common; nevertheless Mrs. 
 Caruthers gradually warmed under the influence 
 that shone upon her; thawed out, and began even 
 to enjoy herself. Tom saw it all, without once turn- 
 ing his face that way; and he was fool enough to 
 fancy that he was the only one. But Philip saw 
 it too, as it were without looking; and delighted 
 himself all the while in the gracious sweetness, 
 and the tender tact, and the simple dignity of un- 
 consciousness, with which Lois attended to every- 
 body, ministered to everybody, and finally smoothed 
 down even poor Mrs. Caruthers' ruffled plumes un- 
 der her sympathizing and kindly touch.
 
 ON THE PASS. 687 
 
 
 
 " How soon will you be at Zermatt ? " the latter 
 asked. " I wish we could travel together ! When 
 do you expect to get the/e ? " 
 
 "0 I do not know. We are going first, you 
 know, to the jEggischhorn. We go where we 
 like, and stay as long as we like; and we never 
 know beforehand how it will be." 
 
 "But so early!" 
 
 " Mr. Dillwyn wanted me to see the flowers. And 
 the snow views are grand, too; I am very glad 
 not to miss them. Just before you came, I had 
 one. The clouds swept apart, for a moment, arid 
 gave me a wonderful sight of a gorge, the wildest 
 possible, and tremendous rocks, half revealed, and 
 a chaos of cloud and storm." 
 
 " Do you like that ? " 
 
 " I like it all," said Lois smiling. And the other 
 woman looked, with a fascinated, uncomprehend- 
 ing air, at the beauty of that smile. 
 
 " But why do you walk ? " 
 
 " that's half the fun," cried Lois. " We gain 
 so a whole world of things that other people miss. 
 Ami the walking itself is delightful." 
 
 .' I wonder if I could walk?" said Mrs. Caruthers 
 enviously. "How far can you go in a day? You 
 must make very slow progress?" 
 
 "Not very. Now I am getting in training, we 
 can do twenty or thirty miles a day with ease." 
 
 "Twenty or thirty miles!" Mrs. Caruthers aa 
 nearly screamed as politeness would let her do. 
 
 " We do it easily, beginning the day early."
 
 688 NOBODY. 
 
 
 
 " How early ? What do you call earl} ? " 
 
 "About four or five o'clock." 
 
 Mrs. Caruthers looked now as if she were star 
 ing at a prodigy. 
 
 "Start at four o'clock! Where do you get break- 
 fast? Don't you have breakfast ? Will the people 
 give you breakfast so early ? Why they would hare 
 to be up by two." 
 
 Tom was listening now. He could not help 
 it. 
 
 " we have breakfast," Lois said. " We carry 
 it with us, and we stop at some nice place and 
 take rest on the rocks, or on a soft carpet 
 of moss, when we have walked an hour or 
 two. Mr. Dillwyn carries our breakfast in a little 
 knapsack." 
 
 " Is it nice ? " enquired the lady, with such an 
 expression of doubt and scruple that the risible 
 nerves of the others could not stand it, and there 
 was a general burst of laughter. 
 
 "Come and try once," said Lois, "and you will 
 see." 
 
 "If you do not like such fare," Philip Vent rvn, 
 "you can almost always stop at a house and get 
 breakfast." *&& 
 
 "I could not eat dry food," said the lady; 
 "and you do not drink wine. What do you 
 drink? Water?" 
 
 "Sometimes. Generally we manage to get milk 
 It is fresh and excellent." 
 
 "And without cups and saucers?" said the as-
 
 ON THE PASS. 68i> 
 
 tcmished lady. Lois's "ripple of laughter" Bounded 
 again softly. 
 
 "Not quite without cups; I am afraid we really 
 do without saucers. We have an unlimited table- 
 cloth, you know, of lichen and moss." 
 
 " And you really enjoy it ? " 
 
 But here Lois shook her head. " There are no 
 words to tell how much." 
 
 Mrs. Caruthers sighed. If she had spoken out 
 her thoughts, it was too plain to Lois, she would 
 have said, "I do not enjoy anything." 
 
 " How long are you thinking to stay on this 
 side of the water ? " Tom asked his friend now. 
 
 "Several months yet, I hope. I want to push 
 on into Tyrol. We are not in a hurry. The old 
 house at home is getting put into order, and till 
 it is ready for habitation we can be nowhere bette 
 than here." 
 
 "The old house? your house, do you mean? the 
 old house at Battersby ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You are not going there ? for the winter at 
 least?" 
 
 " Yes, we propose that. Why ? " 
 
 " It is I that should ask ' why.' What on earth 
 should you go to live there for ? " 
 
 " It is a nice country, a very good house, and 
 a place I am fond of and I think Lois will like." 
 
 " But out of the world ! " 
 
 " Only out of your world," his friend returned 
 with a smile.
 
 690 NOBODY. 
 
 "Why should you go out of our world? it Is 
 the world." 
 
 "For what good properties?" 
 
 "And it has always been your world," Tom 
 went on, disregarding this question. 
 
 " I told you, I am changed." 
 
 "But does becoming a Christian change a man. 
 Mr. Dillwyn ? " Mrs. Caruthers asked. 
 
 " So the Bible says." 
 
 U I never saw much difference. I thought we 
 were all. Christians." 
 
 "If you were to live awhile in the house with 
 that lady," said Tom darkly, "yo\i'd find your mis- 
 take. What in all the world do you expect to do 
 up there at Battersby?" he went on, turning to his 
 friend. 
 
 "Live," said Philip. "In your world you only 
 drag along existence. And we expect to work, 
 which you never do. There is no real living with- 
 out working, man. Try it, Tom." 
 
 " Cannot you work, as you call it, in town ? " 
 
 " We want more free play, and more time, than 
 town life allows one." 
 
 "Besides, the country is so much pleasanter,' 
 Lois added. 
 
 " But such a neighbourhood ! you don't know the 
 neighbourhood but you do, Philip. You have no 
 society, and Battersby is nothing but a manufac- 
 turing place " 
 
 " Battersby is three and a half miles off; too far 
 for its noise or its smoke to reach us; and we can
 
 ON THE PASS. 691 
 
 get society, as much as we want, and what we 
 want; and in such a place there is always a great 
 deal that might be done." 
 
 The talk went on for some time; Mrs. Caruthers 
 seeming amazed and mystified, Tom dissatisfied 
 and critical. At last, being informed that their 
 own quarters were ready, the later comers with- 
 drew, after agreeing that they would all sup to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Tom," said Mrs. Caruthers presently, "whom 
 did Mr. Dillwyn marry ? " 
 
 " Whom did he marry ? " 
 
 " Yes. Who was she before she married ? " 
 
 "I always heard she was nobody " Tom an- 
 swered with something between a grunt and a 
 groan. 
 
 " Nobody ! But that's nonsense. I haven't seen 
 a woman with more style in a great while." 
 
 " Style ! " echoed Tom, and his word would have 
 had a sharp addition if he had not been speaking 
 to his wife; but Tom was before all things a gen- 
 tleman. As it was, his tone would have done 
 honour to a grisly bear somewhat out of temper. 
 
 "Yes," repeated Mrs. Caruthers. "You may not 
 know it, Tom, being a man ; but / know what I 
 am saying; and I tell you Mrs. Dillwyn has very 
 distinguished manners. I hope we may see a good 
 deal of them." 
 
 Meanwhile Lois was standing still where they 
 had left her, in front of the fire; looking down 
 meditatively into it. Her face was grave, and her
 
 692 NOBODY. 
 
 abstraction for some minutes deep. I suppose her 
 New England reserve was struggling with her in- 
 dividual frankness of nature, for she said no word, 
 and Mr. Dillwyn, who was watching her, also 
 stood silent. At last frankness, or affection, got 
 the better of reserve; and with a slow, gentle mo- 
 tion she turned to him, laying one hand on his 
 shoulder and sinking her face upon his breast. 
 
 " Lois ! what is it ? " he asked, folding his arms 
 about her. 
 
 " Philip, it smites me ! " 
 
 "What, my darling? "he said, almost startled. 
 And then she lifted up her face and looked at him. 
 
 "To know myself so happy, and to see them so 
 unhappy. Philip, they are not happy, neither 
 one of them ! " 
 
 " I am afraid it is true. And we can do nothing 
 to help them." 
 
 " No, I see that too." 
 
 Lois said it with a sigh, and was silent again 
 Philip did not choose to push the subject further, 
 uncertain how far her perceptions went, and not 
 wishing to give them any assistance. Lois stood 
 silent and pondering, still within his arms, and he 
 waited and watched her. At last she began again. 
 
 " We cannot do them any good. But I feel as if 
 I should like to spend my life in making people 
 happy ? " 
 
 " How many people ! " said her husband fondly, 
 with a kiss or two which explained his meaning. 
 Lois laughed out.
 
 ON THE PASS. 693 
 
 " Philip, I do not make you happy." 
 
 " You come very near it." 
 
 "But I mean Your happiness has something 
 better to rest on. I should like to spend my life 
 bringing happiness to the people who know noth- 
 ing about being happy." 
 
 " Do it, sweetheart ! " said he, straining her a 
 little closer. " And let me help." 
 
 " Let you help ! when you would have to do 
 almost the whole. But to be sure, money is not 
 all; and money alone will not do it, in most cases. 
 Philip, I will tell you where I should like to begin." 
 
 " Where ? I will begin there also." 
 
 " With Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 "Mrs. Barclay! " There came a sudden light 
 into Philip's eyes. 
 
 " Do you know, she is not a happy woman ? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " And she seems very much alone in the world." 
 
 " She is alone in the world." 
 
 "And she has been so good to us! She has 
 done a great deal for Madge and me." 
 
 " She has done as much for me." 
 
 " I don't know about that. I do not see how 
 she could. In a way, I owe her almost everything. 
 Philip, you would never have married the woman 
 I was three years ago." 
 
 "Don't take your oath upon that," he said 
 lightly. 
 
 " But you would not, and you ought not." 
 
 "There is a counterpart to that. I am sure you
 
 694 NOBODY. 
 
 would not have married the man I was three years 
 ago." 
 
 At that Lois laid down her face again for a mo- 
 ment on his breast. 
 
 " I had a pretty hard quarter of an hour in a 
 sleigh with you once ! " she said. 
 
 Philip's answer was again wordless. 
 
 " But about Mrs. Barclay ? " said Lois, recover- 
 ing herself. 
 
 " Are you one of the few women who can keep 
 to the point ? " said he laughing. 
 
 " What can we do for her ? " 
 
 " What would you like to do for her ? " 
 
 Oh Make her happy ! " 
 
 "And to that end?" 
 
 Lois lifted her face and looked into Mr. Dillwyn's 
 as if she would search out something there. The 
 frank nobleness which belonged to it was encour- 
 aging, and yet she did not speak. 
 
 " Shall we ask her to make her home with us ? " 
 
 " Philip ! " said Lois, with her face all illumi- 
 nated, " would you like it ? " 
 
 " I owe her much more than you do. And Love, 
 I like what you like." 
 
 "Would she come?" 
 
 "If she could resist you and me together, she 
 would be harder than I think her." 
 
 " I love her very much," said Lois thoughtfully, 
 " and I think she loves me. And if she will come 
 I am almost sure we can make her happy." 
 
 "We will try, darling."
 
 ON THE PASS. 695 
 
 "And these other people- -we need not meet 
 them at Zermatt, need we?" 
 
 " We will find it not convenient." 
 
 Neither at Zermatt nor anywhere else in Switz- 
 erland did the friends again join company. After- 
 wards, when both parties had returned to their 
 own country, it was impossible but that encounters 
 should now and then take place. But whenever 
 and wherever they happened, Tom made them as 
 short as his wife would let him. And as long as 
 he lives, he will never see Mrs. Philip Dillwyn 
 without a clouding of his face and a very evident 
 discomposure of his gay and not specially profound 
 nature. It has tenacity somewhere, and has re- 
 ceived at least one thing which it will never lose.
 
 
 F' un 
 
 201369 f