"Why for do you not come to your friend, Mr. Haye, ever?" said Mr. Herder to him one day.

"I am short of time, Mr. Herder."

"Time! — But you come to see me?"

"I have time for that."

"I am glad of it," said the naturalist, "for there is no person I like to see better come into my room; but ozer people would like to see you come in too."

"I am not sure of that, Mr. Herder."

"I am sure," said his friend looking kindly at him. "You are working too much."

"I can't do that, sir."

"Come wiz me to Mr. Haye to-night!"

"No sir, thank you."

"What for do you say that?"

"Because it is kind in you to ask me," said Winthrop smiling.

"You will not let nobody be of no use to you," said the naturalist.

Winthrop replied by a question about a new specimen; and the whole world of animate nature was presently buried in the bowels of the earth, or in the depths of philosophy, which comes to about the same thing.

But it fell out that same day that Winthrop, going into the chop-house to fit himself for hard work with a somewhat better dinner than usual, planted himself just opposite a table which five minutes after was taken by Mr. Haye. It happened then that after the usual solitary and selfish wont of such places, the meals were near over before either of the gentlemen found out he had ever seen the other. But in the course of Mr. Haye's second glass of wine, his eye took a satisfied fit of roving over the company; and presently discovered something it had seen before in the figure and face opposite to him and in the eye which was somewhat carelessly running over the columns of a newspaper. Glass in hand Mr. Haye rose, and the next instant Winthrop felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Landholm — isn't it? I thought so. Why, I've been on the point of coming to look after you this last fortnight past, Mr. Landholm, but business held me so tight by the button — I'm very glad to meet you — Will you join me? —"

"Thank you, sir — I must not; for business holds me by the hand at this moment."

"A glass of wine?"

"Thank you sir, again."

"You will not?"

"No, sir. I have no acquaintance in that quarter, and do not wish to be introduced."

"But my dear Mr. Landholm! — are you serious?"

"Always, sir."

"Most extraordinary! — But can't you be persuaded? I think you are wrong."

"I must abide the consequences, I am afraid."

"Well, stay! — Will you come to my house to-night and let me give you some other introductions?"

"I cannot refuse that, sir."

"Then come up to tea. How's your father? —"

So Winthrop was in for it, and went about his afternoon business with the feeling that none would be done in the evening. Which did not make him more diligent, because it could not.

Mr. Haye's house was near the lower end of the Parade, and one of the best in the city. It was a very handsome room in which Winthrop found the family; as luxuriously fitted up as the fashion of those times permitted; and the little group gathered there did certainly look as if all the business of the world was done without them, and a good part of it for them; so undoubtedly easy and comfortable was the flow of their laces and the sweep of their silk gowns; so questionless of toil or endurance was the position of each little figure upon soft cushions, and the play of pretty fingers with delicate do-nothing bobbins and thread. Rose was literally playing with hers, for the true business of the hour seemed to be a gentleman who sat at her feet on an ottoman, and who was introduced to Winthrop as Mr. Satterthwaite. Elizabeth according to her fashion sat a little apart and seemed to be earnestly intent upon some sort of fine net manufacture. They three were all.

Winthrop's reception was after the former manner; from Rose extremely and sweetly free and cordial; from Elizabeth grave and matter-of-fact. She went back to her net-work; and Rose presently found Mr. Satterthwaite very interesting again, and went back to him, so far as looks and talk were concerned. Winthrop could but conclude that he was not interesting, for neither of the ladies certainly found him so. He had an excellent chance to make up his mind about the whole party; for none of them gave him any thing else to do with it.

Rose was a piece of loveliness, to the eye, such as one would not see in many a summer day; with all the sweet flush of youth and health she was not ill-named. Fresh as a rose, fresh-coloured, bright, blooming; sweet too, one would say, for a very pretty smile seemed ever at home on the lips; — to see her but once, she would be noted and remembered as a most rare picture of humanity. But Winthrop had seen her more than once. His eye passed on.

Her cousin had changed for the better; though it might be only the change which years make in a girl at that age, rather than any real difference of character. She had grown handsomer. The cheek was well rounded out now, and had a clear healthy tinge, though not at all Rose's white and red. Elizabeth's colour only came when there was a call for it and then it came promptly. And she was not very apt to smile; when she did, it was more often with a careless or scornful turn, or full and bright with a sense of the ludicrous; never a loving or benevolent smile, such as those that constantly graced Rose's pretty lip. Her mouth kept its old cut of grave independence, Winthrop saw at a glance; and her eye, when by chance she lifted it and it met his, was the very same mixture of coolness and fire that it had been of old; the fire for herself, the coolness for all the rest of the world.

She looked down again at her netting immediately, but the look had probably reminded her that nobody in her father's house was playing the hostess at the moment. A disagreeable reminder it is likely, for she worked away at her netting more vigorously than ever, and it was two or three minutes before her eyes left it again to take note of what Rose and Mr. Satterthwaite were thinking about. Her look amused Winthrop, it was so plain an expression of impatient indignation that they did not do what they left her to do. But seeing they were a hopeless case, after another minute or two of pulling at her netting, she changed her seat for one on his side of the room. Winthrop gave her no help, and she followed up her duty move with a duty commonplace.

"How do you like Mannahatta, Mr. Landholm?"

"I have hardly asked myself the question, Miss Haye."

"Does that mean you don't know?"

"I cannot say that. I like it as a place of business."

"And not as a place of pleasure?"

"No. Except in so far as the pushing on of business may be pleasure."

"You are drawing a distinction in one breath which you confound in the next," said Elizabeth.

"I didn't know that you would detect it," he said with a half smile.

"Detect what?"

"The distinction between business and pleasure."

"Do you think I don't know the difference?"

"You cannot know the difference, without knowing the things to be compared."

"The things to be compared! —" said she, with a good look at him out of her dark eyes. "And which of them do you think I don't know?"

"I supposed you were too busy to have much time for pleasure," he said quietly.

"It is possible to be busy in more ways than one," said Elizabeth, after a minute of not knowing how to take him up.

"That is just what I was thinking."

"What are you busy about, Mr. Landholm, in this place of business?"

"I am only learning my trade," he answered.

"A trade! — May I ask what?" she said, with another surprised and inquisitive look.

"A sort of cobbling trade, Miss Elizabeth — the trade of the law."

"What does the law cobble?"

"People's name and estate."

"Cobble?" said Elizabeth. "What is the meaning of 'cobble?'"

"I don't recollect," said Winthrop. "What meaning do you give it, Miss Haye?"

"I thought it was a poor kind of mending."

"I am afraid there is some of that work done in the profession," said Winthrop smiling. "Occasionally. But it is the profession and not the law that is chargeable, for the most part."

"I wouldn't be a lawyer if that were not so," said Elizabeth. "I wouldn't be a cobbler of anything."

"To be anything else might depend on a person's faculties."

"I don't care," said Elizabeth, — "I would not be. If I could not mend, I would let alone. I wouldn't cobble."

"What if one could neither mend nor let alone?"

"One would have less power over himself than I have, or than you have, Mr. Landholm."

"One thing at least doesn't need cobbling," he said with a smile.

"I never heard such a belittling character of the profession," she went on. "Your mother would have given it a very different one, Mr. Landholm. She would have told you, 'Open thy mouth, judge' — what is it? — 'and plead the cause of the poor.'"

Whether it were the unexpected bringing up of his mother's name, or the remembrance of her spirit, something procured Miss Elizabeth a quick little bright smile of answer, very different from anything she had had from Winthrop before. So different, that her eyes went down to her work for several minutes, and she forgot everything else in a sort of wonder at the change and at the beauty of expression his face could put on.

"I didn't find those words myself," she added presently; — "a foolish man was shewing me the other day what he said was my verse in some chapter of Proverbs; and it happened to be that."

But Winthrop's answer went to something in her former speech, for it was made with a little breath of a sigh.

"I think Wut-a-qut-o is a pleasanter place than this, Miss Haye."

"O, so do I! — at least — I don't know that it signifies much to me what sort of a place I am in. If I can only have the things I want around me, I don't think I care much."

"How many things do you want to be comfortable?"

"O, — books, — and the conveniences of life; and one or two friends that one cares about."

"Cut off two of those preliminaries, — and which one would you keep for comfort, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Couldn't do without either of 'em. What's become of my Merry- go-round, Mr. Winthrop?"

"It lies in the upper loft of the barn, with all the seams open."

"Why?"

"You remember, nobody was to use it but me."

A curious recollection of the time when it was given and of the feeling, half condescending, half haughty, with which it had been given, came over Elizabeth; and for a moment or two she was a little confused. Whether Winthrop recollected it too or whether he had a mischievous mind that she should, he said presently,

"And what's become of your horse, Miss Elizabeth?"

"He's very well," she said. "At least — I don't know I am sure how he is, for he is up in the country."

Winthrop rose at the instant to greet Mr. Herder, and Elizabeth did not know whether the smile on his lips was for him or at her.

"Ah! Wint'rop," said the new-comer, "how do you do! I thought you would not come here wiz me this morning?"

"I thought not too, sir."

"How did you come? Miss Elisabet' did make you."

"Miss Elizabeth's father."

"He is a strange man, Miss Elisabet'! — he would not come for me — I could not bring him — neizer for de love of me, nor for de love of you, nor for love of himself. He does like to have his way. And now he is here — I do not know what for; but I am very glad to see him."

He walked Winthrop off.

"He is a strange man," thought Elizabeth; — "he don't seem to care in the least what he ever did or may do; he would just as lief remind me of it as not. It is very odd that he shouldn't want to come here, too."

She sat still and worked alone. When Mr. Haye by and by came in, he joined Winthrop and Mr. Herder, and they three formed a group which even the serving of tea and coffee did not break up. Elizabeth's eye glanced over now and then towards the interested heads of the talkers, and then at Rose and Mr. Satterthwaite, who on the other side were also enough for each other's contentment and seemed to care for no interruption. Elizabeth interrupted nobody.

But so soon as awhile after tea Mr. Satterthwaite left the company, Rose tripped across to the other group and placed her pretty person over against the naturalist and his young friend.

"Mr. Herder, you are taking up all of Mr. Landholm — I haven't seen him or spoken to him the whole evening."

"Dere he is, Miss Rose," said the naturalist. "Do what you like wiz him."

"But you don't give a chance. Mr. Landholm, are you as great a favourite with everybody as you are with Mr. Herder?"

"Everybody does not monopolize me, Miss Cadwallader."

"I wished so much you would come over our side — I wanted to make you acquainted with Mr. Satterthwaite."

Winthrop bowed, and Mr. Haye remarked that Mr. Satterthwaite was not much to be acquainted with.

"No, but still — he's very pleasant," Rose said. "And how is everything up at your lovely place, Mr. Landholm?"

"Cold, at present, Miss Cadwallader."

"O yes, of course; but then I should think it would be lovely at all times. Isn't it a beautiful place, Mr. Herder?"

"Which place, Miss Rose?"

"Why, Mr. Landholm's place, up the river, where we were that summer. And how's your mother, Mr. Landholm, and your sister? — so kind Mrs. Landholm is! And have you left them entirely, Mr. Landholm?"

"I have brought all of myself away that I could," he said with a smile.

"Don't you wish yourself back there every day?"

"No."

"Don't you! I should think you would. How's your brother, Mr. Landholm, and where is he?"

"He is well, and in the North yet."

"Is he coming back to Mannahatta soon?"

"I have no reason to think so."

"I wish he would. I want to see him again. He is such good company."

"Mr. Wint'rop will do so well, Miss Rose," said the naturalist.

"I dare say he will," said Rose with a very sweet face.

"He won't if he goes on as he has begun," said Mr. Haye. "I asked him to dine here the day after to-morrow, Rose."

"He'll come? —"

But Mr. Landholm's face said no, and said it with a cool certainty.

"Why, Mr. Landholm! —"

"He is very — you cannot do nozing wiz him, Miss Rose," said the naturalist. "Miss Elisabet'! —"

"Well, Mr. Herder?"

"I wish you would come over here and see what you can do."

"About what, Mr. Herder?"

"Wiz Mr. Wint'rop here."

"I just heard you say that nobody can do anything with him, Mr. Herder."

"Here he has refuse to come to dinner wiz all of us."

"If he can't come for his own pleasure, I don't suppose he would come for anybody else's," said Elizabeth.

She left her solitary chair however, and came up and stood behind Mr. Herder.

"He pleads business," said Mr. Haye.

"Miss Elisabet', we want your help," said Mr. Herder. "He is working too hard."

"I am not supposed to know what that means, sir."

"What?" said Mr. Haye.

"Working too hard."

"Work!" said Mr. Haye. "What do you know about work?"

"The personal experience of a life-time, sir," said Winthrop gravely. "Not much of the theory, but a good deal of the practice."

"I'll bear her witness of one thing," said Mr. Haye; "if she can't work herself, she can make work for other people."

"You've got it, Lizzie," said her cousin, clapping her hands.

"I don't take it," said Elizabeth. "For whom do I make work, father?"

"For me, or whoever has the care of you."

Elizabeth's cheek burned now, and her eye too, with a fire which she strove to keep under.

"It's not fair!" she exclaimed. "If I make work for you, I am sure it is work that nobody takes up."

"That's true," said her father laughing, — "it would be too much trouble to pretend to take it all up."

"Then you shouldn't bring it up!" said Elizabeth, trembling.

"It's nothing very bad to bring up," said her father. "It's only a little extra strong machinery that wants a good engineer."

"That's no fault in the machinery, sir," said Winthrop.

"And all you have to do," suggested Mr. Herder, "is to find a good engineer."

"I am my own engineer!" said Elizabeth, a little soothed by the first remark and made desperate by the second.

"So you are!" said her cousin. "There's no doubt of that."

"Are you a good one, Miss Elisabet'?" said the naturalist, smiling at her.

"You must presume not! — after what you have heard," she answered with abundant haughtiness.

"It is one mark of a good engineer to be a match for his machinery," said Winthrop quietly.

It was said so coolly and simply that Elizabeth did not take offence. She stood, rather cooled down and thoughtful, still at the back of Mr. Herder's chair. Winthrop rose to take leave, and Mr. Haye repeated his invitation.

"I will venture so far as to say I will come if I can, sir."

"I shall expect you," said the other, shaking his hand cordially.

Mr. Herder went with his friend. Mr. Haye soon himself followed, leaving the two ladies alone. Both sat down in silence at the table; Elizabeth with a book, Miss Cadwallader with her fancy work; but neither of them seemed very intent on what she was about. The work went on lazily, and the leaves of the book were not turned over.

"I wish I was Winthrop Landholm," said Rose at length.

"Why?" — said her cousin, after a sufficient time had marked her utter carelessness of what the meaning might have been.

"I should have such a good chance."

"Of what?" — said Elizabeth dryly enough.

"Of a certain lady's favour, whose favour is not very easy to gain."

"You don't care much for my favour," said Elizabeth.

"I should, if I were Winthrop Landholm."

"If you were he, you wouldn't get it, any more than you have now."

"O no. I mean, I wish I were he and not myself, you know."

"You must think well enough of him. I am sure no possible inducement could make me wish myself Mr. Satterthwaite, for a moment."

"I don't care for Mr. Satterthwaite," said Rose coolly. "But how Mr. Haye takes to him, don't he?"

"To whom?"

"Winthrop Landholm."

"I don't see how he shews it."

"Why, the way he was asking him to dinner."

"It is nothing very uncommon for Mr. Haye to ask people to dinner."

"No, but such a person."

"What 'such a person'?"

"O, a farmer's boy. Mr. Haye wouldn't have done it once. But that's the way he always comes round to people when they get up in the world."

"This one hasn't got much up in the world yet."

"He is going to, you know. Mr. Herder says so; and President Darcy says there are not two such young men seen in half a century as he and his brother."

Elizabeth laid down her book and looked over at her companion, with an eye the other just met and turned away from.

"Rose, — how dare you talk to me so!"

"So how?" said the other, pouting and reddening, but without lifting her face from her work.

"You know, — about my father. No matter what he does, if it were the worst thing in the world, your lips have no business to mention it to my ears."

"I wasn't saying anything bad," said Rose.

"Your notions of bad and good, and honourable and dishonourable, are very different from mine! If he did as you say, I should be bitterly ashamed."

"I don't see why."

"I will not have such things spoken of to me, — Rose, do you understand? What my father does, no human being has a right to comment upon to me; and none shall!"

"You think you may talk as you like to me," said Rose, between pouting and crying. "I was only laughing."

"Laugh about something else."

"I wish Winthrop Landholm had been here."

"Why?"

"He'd have given you another speech about engineering."

Elizabeth took her candle and book and marched out of the room.

CHAPTER XVIII.

One man has one way of talking, and another man has another, that's all the difference between them. GOOD-NATURED MAN.

Winthrop found he could go. So according to his promise he dressed himself, and was looking out a pockethandkerchief from the small store in his trunk, when the door opened.

"Rufus! —"

"Ah! — you didn't expect to see me, did you?" said that gentleman, taking off his hat and coming in and closing the door with a face of great life and glee. — "Here I am, Governor!"

"What brought you here?" said his brother shaking his hand.

"What brought me here? — why, the stage-coach, to be sure; except five miles, that I rode on horseback. What should bring me?"

"Something of the nature of a centrifugal force, I should judge."

"Centrifugal! — You are my centre, Governor, — don't you know that? I tend to you as naturally as the poor earth does to the sun. That's why I am here — I couldn't keep at a distance any longer."

"My dear sir, at that rate you are running to destruction."

"No, no," said Rufus laughing, — "there's a certain degree of license in our moral planetary system — I'm going away again as soon as I am rightly refreshed with the communication of your light and warmth."

"Well," said Winthrop untying his neckcloth, "it would seem but courtesy in the sun to stand still to receive his visitor — I'm very glad to see you, Will."

"What's the matter?"

"The sun was going out to dinner — that's all, — but you are a sufficient excuse for me."

"Going to dinner? — where?"

"No. 11, on the Parade."

"No. 11? — Mr. Haye's? were you? I'll go too. I won't hinder you."

"I am not sorry to be hindered," said Winthrop.

"But I am! — at least, I should be. We'll both go. How soon, Governor?"

"Presently."

"I'll be ready," said Rufus, — "here's my valise — but my shirt ruffles, I fear, are in a state of impoverished elegance. — I speak not in respect of one or two holes, of which they are the worse, — but solely in reference to the coercive power of narrow circumstances — which nobody knows anything of that hasn't experienced it," said Rufus, looking up from his valise to his brother with an expression half earnest, half comical.

"You are not suffering under it at this moment," said Winthrop.

"Yes I am — in the form of my frills. Look there! — I'll tell you what I'll do — I'll invoke the charities of my good friend, Mrs. Nettley. Is she down stairs? — I'll be back in a moment, Winthrop."

Down stairs, shirt in hand, went Rufus, and tapped at Mrs. Nettley's door. That is, the door of the room where she usually lived, a sort of better class kitchen, which held the place of what in houses of more pretension is called the 'back parlour.' Mrs. Nettley's own hand opened the door at his tap.

She was a strong contrast to her brother, with her rather small person and a face all the lines of which were like a cobweb set to catch every care that was flying; but woven by no malevolent spider; it was a very nest of kindliness and good-will.

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Nettley," said Rufus softly.

"Why, Mr. Landholm! — are you there? Come in — how good it is to see you again! but I didn't expect it."

"Didn't expect to see me again?"

"No — O yes, of course, Mr. William," said Mrs. Nettley laughing, — "I expected to see you again; but not now — I didn't expect to see you when I opened the door."

"I had the advantage, for I did expect to see you."

"How do you do, Mr. Landholm?"

"Why, as well as a man can do, in want of a shirt," said Rufus comically.

"Mr. Landholm? —"

"You see, Mrs. Nettley," Rufus went on, "I have come all the way from North Lyttleton to dine with a friend and my brother here; and now I am come, I find that without your good offices I haven't a ruffle to ruffle myself withal; or in other words, I am afraid people would think I had packed myself bodily into my valise, and thereby conclude I was a smaller affair than they had thought me."

"Mr. Landholm! — how you do talk! —but can I do anything?"

"Why yes, ma'am, — or your irons can, if you have any hot."

"O that's it!" exclaimed Mrs. Nettley as Rufus held out the crumpled frills, — "It's to smooth them, — yes sir, my fire is all out a'most, but I can iron them in the oven. I'll do it directly, Mr. Landholm."

"Well," said Rufus with a quizzical face, — "any way — if you'll ensure them against damages, Mrs. Nettley — I don't understand all the possibilities of an oven."

"We are very glad to have your brother in your room, Mr. Landholm," the good lady went on, as she placed one of her irons in the oven's mouth, where a brilliant fire was at work.

"I should think you would, ma'am; he can fill it much better than I."

"Why Mr. Landholm! — I should think — I shouldn't think, to look at you, that your brother would weigh much more than you — he's broader shouldered, something, but you're the tallest, I'm sure. But you didn't mean that."

"I won't dispute the palm of beauty with him, Mrs. Nettley, nor of ponderosity. I am willing he should exceed me in both."

"Why Mr. Landholm! — dear, I wish this iron would get hot; but there's no hurrying it; — I think it's the wood — I told George I think this wood does not give out the heat it ought to do. It makes it very extravagant wood. One has to burn so much more, and then it doesn't do the work — Why Mr. Landholm — you must have patience, sir — Your brother is excellent, every way, and he's very good looking, but you are the handsomest."

"Everybody don't think so," Rufus said, but with a play of lip and brow that was not on the whole unsatisfied. Mrs. Nettley's attention however was now fastened upon the frills. And then came in Mr. Inchbald; and they talked, a sort of whirlwind of talk, as his sister not unaptly described it; and then, the ruffles being in order Rufus put himself so, and Winthrop and he talked themselves all the way down to No. 11, on the Parade.

Their welcome was most hearty, though the company were already at table. Place was speedily made for them; and Rufus hardly waited to take his before he became the life and spirit of the party. He continued to be that through the whole entertainment, delighting everybody's eye and ear. Winthrop laughed at his brother and with him, but himself played a very quiet part; putting in now and then a word that told, but doing it rarely and carelessly; the flow and freshness of the conversation calling for no particular help from him.

Mr. Herder was there; also Mr. Satterthwaite, who sat next to Winthrop and addressed several confidential and very unimportant remarks to him, and seemed to look upon his brother as a sort of meteoric phenomenon. President Darcy, of Mr. Herder's College, was the only other guest. Elizabeth sat next to Winthrop, but after the first formal greeting vouchsafed not a single look his way; she was in a dignified mood for all the company generally, and Rose's were the only feminine words that mixed with the talk during dinner. Very feminine they were, if that word implies a want of strength; but coming from such rosy lips, set round about with such smiles of winningness, they won their way and made easy entrance into all the ears at table. With the trifling exception of a pair or two.

"What is the matter with you?" said Rose, when she and her cousin had left the gentlemen and were alone in the drawing- room.

"Nothing at all."

"You don't say a word."

"I will, when I have a word to say."

"I thought you always had words enough," said Rose.

"Not when I haven't time too."

"Time? what, for words?"

"Yes."

"What was the matter with the time?"

"It was filled up."

"Well, you might have helped fill it."

"Nothing can be more than full, very well," said Elizabeth contemptuously. "I never want my words to be lost on the outside of a conversation."

"You think a great deal of your words," said her cousin.

"I want other people should."

"You do! Well — I never expect them to think much of mine."

"That's not true, Rose."

"It isn't?"

"No; and your smile when you said it spoke that it wasn't."

"Well, I don't care, they are thought enough of," said Rose, half crying.

Elizabeth walked to the window and stood within the curtain, looking out into the street; and Rose bestowed her pouting lips and brimful eyes upon the full view of the fire.

"What's made you so cross?" she said after a quarter of an hour, when the tears were dried.

"I am not cross."

"Did you ever see anybody so amusing as Rufus Landholm?"

"Yes, he's amusing. — I don't like people that are too amusing."

"How can anybody be too amusing?"

"He can make it too much of his business."

"Who? — Rufus?"

"No, anybody. You asked how anybody could."

"Well I dont see how you can think he is too amusing."

"Why, that is all you care for in a man."

"It isn't! I care for a great deal else. What do you care for?"

"I don't know, I am sure," said Elizabeth; "but I should say, everything else."

"Well, I think people are very stupid that aren't amusing," said Rose.

Which proposition the ladies illustrated for another quarter of an hour.

The gentlemen came in then, one after another, but Elizabeth did not move from her window.

"I have something of yours in my possession, Miss Haye," said Rufus, coming to the outside of the curtain within which she stood.

"What?" said Elizabeth unceremoniously.

"Your father."

"What are you going to do with him?"

Rufus laughed a little; and Winthrop remarked there was nothing like straightforward dealing to confound a manoeuvrer.

"I have a desire to put him out of my hands, into yours," said Rufus; — "but then, I have also a desire to make him fast there."

"My bracelet!" said Elizabeth.

It had a likeness of Mr. Haye in cameo.

"Where did you get it?"

"Where you left it."

"Where was that?"

"On the table, at the left hand of your plate, covered by your napkin."

Elizabeth stretched out her hand for it.

"Not so fast — I have it in my possession, as I told you, and I claim a reward for recovering it from its ignoble condition."

"I shall set my own conditions then," said Elizabeth. "I will let anybody put it on, who will do me the pleasure to explain it first."

"Explain?" said Rufus, looking in a sort of comical doubt at the cameo; — "I see the features of Mr. Haye, which never need explanation to me."

"Not in nature; but do you understand them when they look so brown on a white ground?"

"They look very natural!" said Rufus eyeing the cameo.

"That is to say, you do not understand them?"

"Pardon me, you are the person most difficult to understand."

"I don't ask that of you," said Elizabeth. "I want to know about this cameo, for I confess I don't."

"And I confess I don't," said Rufus. "I didn't even know it had any other name but Mr. Haye."

"What's all this?" said Rose, — "what are you talking about here?"

"We are talking about, we don't know what," said Rufus.

"What is it?"

"That's the question; — nobody knows."

"What is the question?"

"Who shall put on Miss Elizabeth's bracelet."

"Give it to me — I'll do it."

"Pardon me — there is said to be reason in the roasting of eggs, and there must be a good deal of reason before this bracelet goes on."

"I want somebody to tell me about the cameo," said Elizabeth.

"Well, won't somebody do it?"

"Mr. Landholm can't — I haven't asked Mr. Winthrop."

"Will you?" said Rose turning to him.

"I wasn't asked," said Winthrop.

"But I asked you."

"Do you wish to know, Miss Cadwallader?"

"No I don't. What's the use of knowing about everything? Do leave the cameos, and come over here and sit down and talk and be comfortable!"

"It's impossible for me to be comfortable," said Rufus. "I've got Mr. Haye on my hands and I don't know what to do with him."

"Mr. Herder!" — Rose called out to him, — "do come here and tell us about cameos, that we can sit down and be comfortable."

Very good-humouredly the naturalist left Mr. Haye and came to them, and presently was deep in quartz and silica, and onyx and chalcedony, and all manner of stones that are precious. He told all that Elizabeth wanted to know, and much more than she had dreamed of knowing. Even Rose listened; and Rufus was eagerly attentive; and Elizabeth after she had asked questions as far as her knowledge allowed her to push them, sighed and wished she knew everything.

"Then you would be more wise than anybody, Miss Elisabet' — you would be too wise. The man who knows the most, knows that he knows little."

"Is that your opinion of yourself, Mr. Herder?" said Rufus.

"Certainly. I do know very little; — I will know more, I hope."

"O Mr. Herder, you know enough," said Rose. "I shouldn't think you would want to study any more."

"If I was to say, I know enough, — that would be to say that I do not know nozing at all."

"Mr. Winthrop, you don't seem as interested as the rest of us," said Elizabeth, perhaps with a little curiosity; for he had stood quietly by, letting even Mr. Satterthwaite push himself in between.

"O he," said the naturalist, — "he knows it all before."

"Then why didn't you tell me!" said Elizabeth.

"I wasn't asked," said Winthrop smiling.

"Wint'rop comes to my room the nights," Mr. Herder went on, — "and he knows pretty well all what is in it, by this time. When he is tired himself wiz work at his books and his writings, he comes and gets rested wiz my stones and my preparations. If you will come there, Miss Elisabet', I will shew you crystals of quartz, and onyx, and all the kinds of chalcedony, and ozer things."

"And I too, Mr. Herder?" said Rose.

"Wiz pleasure, Miss Rose, — if you like."

"Mr. Herder," said the young lady, "don't you love everything very much?"

"I love you very much, Miss Rose," said the naturalist, turning his good-humoured handsome face full upon her, — "I do not know about everyzing."

"No, but I mean all animals and insects, and everything that lives?"

"I do not love everyzing that lives," said the naturalist smiling. "I do not love Mr. Heinfelt."

"Who is Mr. Heinfelt?" said Rose.

"He is a man what I do not love."

"No, but Mr. Herder, I mean, don't you love other things very much — animals, and such things? You have so much to do with them."

"No — I have no love to spare for animals," he said with a grave face.

"Don't you love birds and animals, that you are always after and busy with?"

"No," said the naturalist, — "I do not love them — I love what is back of all that — not the animals. I keep my love for men."

"Do you think you have any more in that direction, for keeping it from the others?" said Elizabeth.

"I do not understand —"

"Do you think you love men any better because you don't give animals any love at all?"

"I do love some animals," said Mr. Herder. "I had a horse once, when I lived in Germany, that I did love. I loved him so well, that when a man did insult my horse, I made him fight me."

Rose exclaimed; Elizabeth smiled significantly; and Winthrop remarked,

"So that's the way your love for men shews itself!"

"No," said the naturalist, — "no, — I never did ask a man to meet me more than that one time. And I did not hurt him much. I only want to punish him a little."

"Why, Mr. Herder!" Rose repeated. "I didn't think you would do such a thing."

"Everybody fight in Germany," said the naturalist; "they all fight at the Universites — they must fight. I found the only way was to make myself so good swordsman that I should be safe."

"And have you fought many duels?" said Elizabeth.

"Yes — I have fought — I have been obliged by circumstances to fight a good many. — I have seen two hundred."

"Two hundred duels, Mr. Herder!"

"Yes. — I have seen four men killed."

"Were you ever hurt, Mr. Herder?" said Rose.

"No — I never was wounded. I saw how it was — that the only thing to do was to excel ozers; so as in ozer things, I did in this."

"But how came you, who love men so well, to have so much to do with hurting them, Mr. Herder?"

"You cannot help it, Miss Elisabet'," said the naturalist. "They fight for nozing — they fight for nozing. I never asked one, but I have been oblige to fight a good many. The students make themselves into clubs; and the way is, when two students of different clubs, get in a quarrel, their presidents must fight it out; — so they meet people in duels that they have never spoken to, nor seen. I will give you an instance. — One of these fellows — a great fighter — he had fought perhaps forty times, — he was bragging about it; 'he had fought such one and such one,' he said; — 'perhaps he ought to have fought Herder, in order to say that he was the best man with the sword of all the German students, — perhaps he ought to have met Herder, but he didn't care about it!' And a young fellow that heard him, that was by, he took it up; 'Sir,' said he, 'Herder is my friend — you must fight him — come to my room to-morrow morning at seven o'clock — he will meet you;' — 'very well,' they agree upon the matter togezer. The next morning he come bouncing into my room at a quarter after seven — 'Herder! Herder! come on! — Lessing is waiting to fight you in my room.' — 'What is the matter?' — 'O, Lessing said so and so, and I told him you would fight him at seven, and it is a quarter past' — 'Well, you tell him I didn't know of this, I am not keeping him waiting; I will come directly.' — I was not up. So I got myself dressed, and in ten minutes I was there. A duel is finished when they have given twelve blows" —

"Twelve on each side, Mr. Herder?"

"Yes — when they have both of them given twelve blows apiece. Before we begun, Lessing and me, I whispered to somebody who stood there, that I would not touch him unless he touched me; and then I would give it to him in the ribs. I received ten blows on my arm, which is covered wiz a long glove; the eleven, he cut my waistcoat — I had one blow left, and I gave it to him in the ribs so long —"

Mr. Herder's words were filled out by the position of his fore fingers, which at this juncture were held some seven or eight inches apart.

"O Mr. Herder! — did you kill him!" exclaimed Rose.

"Not at all — I did not kill him — he was very good friend of mine, — he was not angry wiz me. He said, 'when I get well, Herder, you come to breakfast wiz me in my room;' and I said, 'yes!'"

"Is that kind of thing permitted in the Universities, Mr. Herder?" said Elizabeth.

"Permit? — No, it is not permitted. They would hinder it if they could."

"What would have been done to you if you had been found out?"

"Humph! — They would have shut us up!" said Mr. Herder, shrugging his shoulders.

"In your rooms?"

"No — not exactly; — in the fortress. At Munich the punishment for being found out, is eight years in the fortress; — at ozer places, four or five years; — yet they will fight."

"How many Universities have you been in, Mr. Herder?" said Rose.

"I have been in seven, of Universites in Europe."

"Fighting duels in all of them!"

"Well, yes; — no, there was one where I did fight no duel. I was not there long enough."

"Mr. Herder, I am shocked! I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"The bracelet, Mr. Herder, I believe is yours," said Rufus.

"Mine?" — said the naturalist.

"Miss Elizabeth would allow no one to put it on her hand, but a philosopher."

"That is too great an honour for me, — I am not young and gallant enough — I shall depute you," — said Mr. Herder putting the cameo in Winthrop's hand.

But Winthrop remarked that he could not take deputed honours; and quietly laid it in the hand of its owner. Elizabeth, with a face a little blank, clasped it on for herself. Rufus looked somewhat curious and somewhat amused.

"I am afraid you will say of my brother, Miss Haye, that though certainly young enough, he is not very gallant," he said.

Elizabeth gave no answer to this speech, nor sign of hearing, unless it might be gathered from the cool free air with which she made her way out of the group and left them at the window. She joined herself to President Darcy, at the other side of the fire, and engaged him in talk with her about different gems and the engraving of them, so earnestly that she had no eyes nor ears for anybody else. And when any of the gentlemen brought her refreshments, she took or refused them almost without acknowledgment, and always without lifting her eyes to see to whom it might be due.

The company were all gone, and a little pause, of rest or of musing, had followed the last spoken 'good night.' It was musing on Elizabeth's part; for she broke it with,

"Father, if you can give Mr. Landholm aid in any way, I hope you will."

"My dear," said her father, "I don't know what I can do. I did offer to set him a going in business, but he don't like my line; and I have nothing to do with his, away up in the North there among the mountains."

"O I don't mean that Mr. Landholm — I mean the other."

"Winthrop," said Mr. Haye.

"Elizabeth likes him much the best," said Miss Cadwallader.

"I don't," said Mr. Haye.

"Neither do I!"

"I do," said Elizabeth. "I think he is worth at least ten of his brother."

"She likes him so well, that if you don't help him, dear Mr. Haye, there is every likelihood that somebody else will."

"I certainly would," said Elizabeth, "if there was any way that I could. But there is not."

"I don't know that he wants help," said Mr. Haye.

"Why, he must, father! — he can't live upon nothing; how much means do you suppose he has?"

"I met him at the chop-house the other day," said Mr. Haye; — "he was eating a very good slice of roast beef. I dare say he paid for it."

"But he is struggling to make his way up into his profession," said Elizabeth. "He must be."

"What must he be?" said Rose.

"Struggling."

"Perhaps he is," said Mr. Haye, "but he don't say so. If I see him struggling, I will try what I can do."

"Oh father! —"

"Why should Winthrop Landholm be helped," said Rose, "more than all the other young men who are studying in the city?"

"Because I know him," said Elizabeth, "and don't happen to know the others. And because I like him."

"I like him too," said her father yawning, "but I don't know anything very remarkable about him. I like his brother the best."

"He is honest, and good, and independent," said Elizabeth; "and those are the very people that ought to be helped."

"And those are the very people that it is difficult to help," said her father. "How do you suppose he would take it, if I were to offer him a fifty dollar note to-morrow?"

"I don't suppose he would take it at all," said Elizabeth. "You couldn't help him so. But there are other ways."

"You may give him all your business, when he gets into his profession," said Mr. Haye. "I don't know what else you can do. Or you can use your influence with Mr. Satterthwaite to get his father to employ him."

"You and he may both be very glad to do it yet," said Elizabeth. "I shouldn't wonder."

"Then I don't see why you are concerned about him," said Rose.

Elizabeth was silent, with a face that might be taken to say there was nobody within hearing worthy of her words.

Rufus went back to his work in the mountains, and Winthrop struggled on; if most diligent and unsparing toil, and patient denying himself of necessary and wished-for things, were struggling. It was all his spare time could do to make clear the way for the hours given to his profession. There was little leisure for rest, and he had no means to bestow on pleasure; and that is a very favourable stating of the case as far as regards the last item. Mr. Inchbald never asked for rent, and never had it; not in those days. That the time would come, Winthrop believed; and his kind host never troubled himself to inquire.

There were pleasures, however, that Winthrop could not buy and which were very freely his. Mr. Herder's friendship introduced him to society, some of the best worth to be found, and which opened itself circle after circle to let him in. He had the freedom of President Darcy's house, and of Mr. Haye's, where he met other sets; in all, covering the whole ground of Mannahatta good society; and in all which Winthrop could not but know he was gladly seen. He had means and facilities for social enjoyment, more, by many, than he chose to avail himself of; facilities that did not lack temptation. In Mr. Herder's set, Winthrop often was found; other houses in the city saw him but rarely.

There was an exception, — he was often at Mr. Haye's; why, it did not very plainly appear. He was certainly made welcome by the family, but so he was by plenty of other families; and the house had not a more pleasant set of familiars than several other houses could boast. Mr. Haye had no sort of objection to giving him so much countenance and encouragement; and Rose kept all her coldness and doubtful speeches for other times than those when he was near. Elizabeth held very much her old manner; in general chose to have little to do with him; either haughtily or carelessly distant, it might be taken for one or the other. Though which it might be taken for, seemed to give no more concern to the gentleman in question than it did to herself.

CHAPTER XIX.

A man may hear this shower sing in the wind. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

One summer's afternoon, — this was the first summer of Winthrop's being in Mannahatta, — he went to solace himself with a walk out of town. It was a long and grave and thoughtful walk; so that Mr. Landholm really had very little good of the bright summer light upon the grass and trees. Furthermore, he did not even find it out when this light was curtained in the west with a thick cloud, which straightway became gilt and silver-edged in a marvellous and splendid degree. The cloud of thought was thicker than that, if not quite so brilliant; and it was not until low growls of thunder began to salute his ear, that he looked up and found the silver edge fast mounting to the zenith and the curtain drawing its folds all around over the clear blue sky. His next look was earthward, for a shelter; for at the rate that chariot of the storm was travelling he knew he had not many minutes to seek one before the storm would be upon him. Happily a blacksmith's shop, that he would certainly have passed without seeing it, stood at a little distance; and Winthrop thankfully made for it. He found it deserted; and secure of a refuge, took his place at the door to watch the face of things; for though the edge of the town was near, the storm was nearer, and it would not do to run for it. The blackness covered everything now, changing to lurid light in the storm quarter, and big scattered drops began to come plashing down. This time Winthrop's mind was so much in the clouds that he did not know what was going on in the earth; for while he stood looking and gazing, two ladies almost ran over him. Winthrop's senses came back to the door of the blacksmith's shop, and the ladies recovered themselves.

"How do you do, Mr. Landholm," said the one, with a bow.

"O Mr. Winthrop!" cried the other, — "what shall we do? we can't get home, and I'm so frightened! —"

Winthrop had not time to open his lips, for either civility or consolation, when a phaeton, coming at a furious rate, suddenly pulled up before them, and Mr. Satterthwaite jumped out of it and joined himself to the group. His business was to persuade Miss Haye to take the empty place in his carriage and escape with him to the shelter of her own house or his father's. Miss Haye however preferred getting wet, and walking through the mud, and being blinded with the lightning, all of which alternatives Mr. Satterthwaite presented to her; at least no other conclusion could be drawn, for she very steadily and coolly refused to ride home with him.

"Mr. Landholm," said Mr. Satterthwaite in desperation, "don't you advise Miss Haye to agree to my proposition?"

"I never give advice, sir," said Winthrop, "after I see that people's minds are made up. Perhaps Miss Cadwallader may be less stubborn."

Mr. Satterthwaite could do no other than turn to Miss Cadwallader, who wanted very little urging.

"But Rose!" said her cousin, — "you're not going to leave me alone?"

"No, I don't," said Rose. "I'm sure you've got somebody with you; and he's got an umbrella."

"Don't, Rose!" said Elizabeth, — "stay and go home with me — the storm will be over directly."

"It won't — I can't," said Rose, — "It won't be over this hour, and I'm afraid —"

And into Mr. Satterthwaite's phaeton she jumped, and away Mr. Satterthwaite's phaeton went, with him and her in it.

"You had better step under shelter, Miss Haye," said Winthrop; "it is beginning to sprinkle pretty fast."

"No," said Elizabeth, "I'll go home — I don't mind it. I would rather go right home — I don't care for the rain."

"But you can't go without the umbrella," said Winthrop, "and that belongs to me."

"Well, won't you go with me?" said Elizabeth, with a look half doubtful and half daunted.

"Yes, as soon as it is safe. This is a poor place, but it is better than nothing. You must come in here and have patience till then."

He went in and Elizabeth followed him, and she stood there looking very doubtful and very much annoyed; eyeing the fast falling drops as if her impatience could dry them up. The little smithy was black as such a place should be; nothing looked like a seat but the anvil, and that was hardly safe to take advantage of.

"I wish there was something here for you to sit down upon," said Winthrop peering about, — "but everything is like Vulcan's premises. It is a pity I am not Sir Walter Raleigh for your behoof; for I suppose Sir Walter didn't mind walking home without his coat, and I do."

"He only threw off his cloak," said Elizabeth.

"I never thought of wearing mine this afternoon," said Winthrop, "though I brought an umbrella. But see here, Miss Elizabeth, — here is a box, one end of which, I think, may be trusted. Will you sit down?"

Elizabeth took the box, seeming from some cause or other tongue-tied. She sat looking out through the open door at the storm in a mixture of feelings, the uppermost of which was vexation.

"I hope more than one end of this box may be trusted," she presently roused herself to say. "I have no idea of giving half trust to anything."

"Yet that is quite as much as it is safe to give to most things," said Winthrop.

"Is it?"

"I am afraid so."

"I wouldn't give a pin for anything I couldn't trust entirely," said Elizabeth.

"Which shews what a point of perfection the manufacture of pins has reached since the days of Anne Boleyn," said Winthrop.

"Of Anne Boleyn! — What of them then?"

"Only that a statute was passed in that time, entitled, 'An act for the true making of pins;' so I suppose they were then articles of some importance. But the box may be trusted, Miss Haye, for strength, if not for agreeableness. A quarter of agreeableness with a remainder of strength, is a fair proportion, as things go."

"Do you mean to compare life with this dirty box?" said Elizabeth.

"They say an image should always elevate the subject," said Winthrop smiling.

"What was the matter with the making of pins," said Elizabeth, "that an act had to be made about it?"

"Why in those days," said Winthrop, "mechanics and tradespeople were in the habit occasionally of playing false, and it was necessary to look after them."

Elizabeth sat silently looking out again, wondering — what she had often wondered before — where ever her companion had got his cool self-possession; marvelling, with a little impatient wonder, how it was that he would just as lief talk to her in a blacksmith's shop in a thunder-storm, as in anybody's drawing- room with a band playing and fifty people about. She was no match for him, for she felt a little awkward. She, Miss Haye, the heiress in her own right, who had lived in good company ever since she had lived in company at all. Yet there he stood, more easily, she felt, than she sat. She sat looking straight out at the rain and thinking of it.

The open doorway and her vision were crossed a moment after by a figure which put these thoughts out of her head. It was the figure of a little black girl, going by through the rain, with an old basket at her back which probably held food or firing that she had been picking up along the streets of the city. She wore a wretched old garment which only half covered her, and that was already half wet; her feet and ancles were naked; and the rain came down on her thick curly head. No doubt she was accustomed to it; the road-worn feet must have cared little for wet or dry, and the round shock of wool perhaps never had a covering; yet it was bowed to the rain, and the little blackey went by with lagging step and a sort of slow crying. It touched Elizabeth with a disagreeable feeling of pain. The thought had hardly crossed her mind, that she was sorry for her, when to her great surprise she saw her companion go to the door and ask the little object of her pity to come in under the shed. The child stopped her slow step and her crying and looked up at him.

"Come in here till the rain's over," he repeated.

She gave her head a sort of matter-of-course shake, without moving a pair of intelligent black eyes which had fixed on his face.

"Come in," said Winthrop.

The child shook her head again, and said,

"Can't!"

"Why not?" said Winthrop.

"Mustn't!"

"Why mustn't you?"

"'Cause."

"Come in," said Winthrop, — and to Elizabeth's exceeding astonishment he laid hold of the little black shoulder and drew the girl into the shop, — "it is going to storm hard; — why mustn't you?"

The little blackey immediately squatted herself down on the ground against the wall, and looking up at him repeated,

"'Cause."

"It's going to be a bad storm; — you'll be better under here."

The child's eyes went out of the door for a moment, and then came back to his face, as if with a sort of fascination.

"How far have you to go?"

"Home."

"How far is that?"

"It's six miles, I guess," said the owner of the eyes.

"That's too far for you to go in the storm. The lightning might kill you."

"Kill me!"

"Yes. It might."

"I guess I'd be glad if it did," she said, with another glance at the storm.

"Glad if it did! — why?"

"'Cause."

"'Cause what?" said Winthrop, entering more into the child's interests, Elizabeth thought, than he had done into hers.

"'Cause," repeated the blackey. — "I don't want to get home."

"Who do you live with?"

"I live with my mother, when I'm to home."

"Where do you live when you are not at home?"

"Nowheres."

The gathered storm came down at this point with great fury. The rain fell, whole water; little streams even made their way under the walls of the shanty and ran across the floor. The darkness asked no help from black walls and smoky roof.

"Isn't this better than to be out?" said Winthrop, after his eyes had been for a moment drawn without by the tremendous pouring of the rain. But the little black girl looked at it and said doggedly,

"I don't care."

"Where have you been with that basket?"

"Down yonder — where all the folks goes," she said with a slight motion of her head towards the built-up quarter of the country.

"Do you bring wood all the way from there on your back?"

"When I get some."

"Aren't you tired?"

The child looked at him steadily, and then in a strange somewhat softened manner which belied her words, answered,

"No."

"You don't bring that big basket full, do you?"

She kept her bright eyes on him and nodded.

"I should think it would break your back."

"If I don't break my back I get a lickin'."

"Was that what you were crying for as you went by?"

"I wa'n't a cryin'!" said the girl. "Nobody never see me a cryin' for nothin'!"

"You haven't filled your basket to-day."

She gave an askant look into it, and was silent.

"How came that?"

"'Cause! — I was tired, and I hadn't had no dinner; and I don't care! That's why I wished the thunder would kill me. I can't live without eatin'."

"Have you had nothing since morning?"

"I don't get no mornin' — I have to get my dinner."

"And you could get none to-day?"

"No. Everything was eat up."

"Everything isn't quite eaten up," said Winthrop, rummaging in his coat pocket; and he brought forth thence a paper of figs which he gave the girl. "He isn't so short of means as I feared, after all," thought Elizabeth, "since he can afford to carry figs about in his pocket." But she did not know that the young gentleman had made his own dinner off that paper of figs; and she could not guess it, ever when from his other coat pocket he produced some biscuits which were likewise given to eke out the figs in the little black girl's dinner. She was presently roused to very great marvelling again by seeing him apply his foot to another box, one without a clean side, and roll it over half the length of the shed for the child to sit upon.

"What do you think of life now, Miss Elizabeth?" he said, leaving his charge to eat her figs and coming again to the young lady's side.

"That isn't life," said Elizabeth.

"It seems without the one quarter of agreeableness," he said.

"But it's horrible, Mr. Winthrop! —"

He was silent, and looked at the girl, who sitting on her coal box was eating figs and biscuits with intense satisfaction.

"She is not a bad-looking child," said Elizabeth.

"She is a very good-looking child," said Winthrop; "at least her face has a great deal of intelligence; and I think, something more."

"What more?"

"Feeling, or capacity of feeling."

"I wish you had a seat, Mr. Landholm," said Elizabeth, looking round.

"Thank you — I don't wish for one."

"It was very vexatious in Rose to go and leave me!"

"There isn't another box for her if she had stayed," said Winthrop.

"She would have me go out with her this afternoon to see her dressmaker, who lives just beyond here a little; and father had the horses. It was so pleasant an afternoon, I had no notion of a storm."

"There's a pretty good notion of a storm now," said Winthrop.

So there was, beyond a doubt; the rain was falling in floods, and the lightning and thunder, though not very near, were very unceasing. Elizabeth still felt awkward and uneasy, and did not know what to talk about. She never had talked much to Mr. Landholm; and his cool matter-of-fact way of answering her remarks, puzzled or baffled her.

"That child sitting there makes me very uncomfortable," she said presently.

"Why, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth hesitated, and then said she did not know.

"You don't like the verification of my setting forth of life," he said smiling.

"But that is not life, Mr. Winthrop."

"What is it?"

"It is the experience of one here and there — not of people in general."

"What do you take to be the experience of people in general?"

"Not mine, to be sure," said Elizabeth after a little thought, — "nor hers."

"Hers is a light shade of what rests upon many."

"Why Mr. Winthrop! do you think so?"

"Look at her," he said in a low voice; — "she has forgotten her empty basket in a sweet fig."

"But she must take it up again."

"She won't lessen her burden, but she will her power of forgetting."

Elizabeth sat still, looking at her vis-a-vis of life, and feeling very uneasily what she had never felt before. She began therewith to ponder sundry extraordinary propositions about the inequalities of social condition and the relative duties of man to man.

"What right have I," she said suddenly, "to so much more than she has?"

"Very much the sort of right that I have to be an American, while somebody else is a Chinese."

"Chance," said Elizabeth.

"No, there is no such thing as chance," he said seriously.

"What then?"

"The fruit of industry, talent, and circumstance."

"Not mine."

"No, but your father's, who gives it to you."

"But why ought I to enjoy more than she does? — in the abstract, I mean."

"I don't know," said Winthrop. — "I guess we had better walk on now, Miss Elizabeth."

"Walk on! — it rains too hard."

"But we are in the shed, while other people are out?"

"No but, — suppose that by going out I could bring them in?"

"Then I would certainly act as your messenger," he said smiling. "But you can't reach all the people who are so careless as to go out without umbrellas."

Elizabeth was betrayed into a laugh —a genuine hearty laugh of surprise, in which her awkwardness was for a moment forgotten.

"How came you to bring one, such a day?"

"I thought the sun was going to shine."

"But seriously, Mr. Landholm, my question," — said Elizabeth.

"What was it?"

"How ought I to enjoy so much more than she has?"

"Modestly, I should think."

"What do you mean?"

"If you were to give the half of your fortune to one such, for instance," he said with a slight smile, "do you fancy you would have adjusted two scales of the social balance to hang even?"

"No," said Elizabeth, — "I suppose not."

"You would have given away what she could not keep; you would have put out of your power what would not be in hers; and on the whole, she would be scantly a gainer and the world would be a loser."

"Yet surely," said Elizabeth, "something is due from my hand to hers."

Her companion was quite silent, rather oddly, she thought; and her meditations came back for a moment from social to individual distinctions and differences. Then, really in a puzzle as to the former matter, she repeated her question.

"But what can one do to them, then, Mr. Winthrop? — or what should be one's aim?"

"Put them in the way of exercising the talent and industry and circumstance which have done such great things for us."

"So that by the time they have the means they will be ready for them? — But dear me! that is a difficult matter!" said Elizabeth.

Her companion smiled a little.

"But they haven't any talent, Mr. Landholm, — nor industry nor circumstance either. To be sure those latter wants might be made up."

"Most people have talent, of one sort or another," said Winthrop. "There's a little specimen pretty well stocked."

"Do you think so?"

"Try her."

"I don't know how to try her!" said Elizabeth. "I wish you would."

"I don't know how, either," said Winthrop. "Circumstances have been doing it this some time."

"I wish she hadn't come in," said Elizabeth. "She has unsettled all my ideas."

"They will rest the better for being unsettled."

Elizabeth looked at him, but he did not acknowledge the look. Presently, whether to try how benevolence worked, or to run away from her feeling of awkwardness, she got up and moved a few steps towards the place where the little blackey sat.

"Have you had dinner enough?" she said, standing and looking down upon her as a very disagreeable social curiosity.

"There aint no more, if I hain't," said the curiosity, with very dauntless eyes.

"Where do you get your dinner every day?"

"'Long street," said the girl, turning her eyes away from Elizabeth and looking out into the storm.

"Do you often go without any?"

"When the folks don't give me none."

"Does that happen often?"

"They didn't give me none to-day."

"What do you do then?"

The eyes came back from the door to Elizabeth, and then went to Winthrop.

"What do you do then?" Elizabeth repeated.

"I gets 'em."

"You didn't get any to-day?" said Winthrop.

She shook her head.

"You mustn't any more."

"Nobody ha'n't no business to let me starve," said the blackey stoutly.

"No, but I'll tell you where to go the next time you can't get a dinner, and you shall have it without stealing."

"I ha'n't stole it — nobody never see me steal — I only tuk it," — said the girl with a little lowering of her voice and air.

"What's your name?"

"Clam."

"Clam!" said Elizabeth, — "where did you get such an odd name?"

"'Long street," said the girl, her black eyes twinkling.

"Where did you get it?" said Winthrop gravely.

"I didn't get it nowheres — it was guv to me."

"What's your other name?"

"I ha'n't got no more names — my name's Clam."

"What's your mother's name?"

"She's Sukey Beckinson."

"Is she kind to you?" asked Elizabeth.

"I don' know!"

"Did you have dinner enough?" said Winthrop with a smile.

Clam jumped up, and crossing her hands on her breast dropped a brisk little courtsey to her benefactor. She made no other answer, and then sat down again.

"Are you afraid to go home with your empty basket when the storm's over?" said he kindly.

"No," she said; but it was with a singular expression of cold and careless necessity.

"The rest of the basketful wouldn't be worth more than that, would it?" said he giving her a sixpence.

Clam took it and clasped it very tight in her fist, for other place of security she had none; and looked at him, but made no more answer than that.

"You won't forget where to come the next time you can't get an honest dinner," said he. "The corner of Beaver and Little South Streets. You know where it is? That is where I live. Ask for Mr. Landholm."

Clam nodded and said, "I know!"

"I hope you'll get some supper to-night," said he.

"I will!" said Clam determinately.

"How will you?" said Elizabeth.

"I'll make mammy give me some," said the girl flourishing her clasped fist.

"Wouldn't you like to leave picking things out of the street, and go to live with somebody who would take care of you and teach you to be a good girl?" said Elizabeth.

Clam tossed her sixpence up and down in her hand, and finally brought her eyes to bear upon Elizabeth and said,

"I don't want nobody to take care of me."

"If she could be taught, and would, I'd take care of her afterwards," said Elizabeth to Winthrop.

"If he'd say so, I would," said Clam.

"Look here," said Winthrop. "Would you like to come into some kind house — if I can find you one — and learn to do clean work?"

"It don't make no odds," said Clam looking at her basket.

"What do you say?"

"I guess no one don't want me."

"Perhaps not; but if somebody would have you, would you be a good girl?"

"I s'pose I'd get dinner reglar," said the little black girl, still fingering the edge of her basket.

"Certainly! —and something better than figs."

"Be them figs?" said Clam, suddenly looking up at him.

"Yes — the sweet ones."

"Goody! — I didn't know that before."

"Well — you haven't answered me yet."

"I don't care much," — said Clam. "Is it your house?"

"Maybe."

"I'll come!" said she clapping her hands. "I'll clear out, and mother won't never give it to me no more. — Nor nobody else sha'n't?" said she looking up at Winthrop.

"If you behave yourself."

"I'll go now right off!" said Clam, jumping up in great spirits. Then with a changing and doubtful tone she added, looking to Winthrop, "Will you take me?"

"Yes," he said smiling, "but not this evening. You must go home now, when the storm is over, for to-night; and I'll come and see your mother about it."

"What for?" was the very earnest and prompt answer.

"If you agree to come, I must get her to bind you out."

"I aint goin' to be bound," said Clam shaking her head; — "if you bind me, I'll run."

"Run as fast as you please," said Winthrop; — "run whenever you want to; — but I can't take you unless you be bound, for I won't have your mother coming after you."

"Can't she do nothin' to me if I'm bound?" said Clam.

"Nothing at all, till you grow up to be a woman; and then you can take care of yourself."

"I'll take care of myself all along," said Clam. "Nobody else aint a goin' to."

"But somebody must give you clothes to wear, and a bed to sleep in, and your dinner, you know; and you must do work for somebody, to pay for it."

"To pay for my dinner?"

"Yes."

"Very good!" said Clam. "I guess I'll stand it. Will it be for you?"

"No, I think not."

"Won't you?" said Clam wishingly. "I'll do work for you."

"Thank you. Maybe you shall."

"I'm goin' home now," said Clam, getting up and shouldering her basket.

"The storm's too bad yet," said Winthrop.

"Crackey! what do you think I care for that! The rain won't wet me much."

"Come to my house to-morrow, if you want to see me again," said Winthrop, — "about dinner-time."

Clam nodded, and fixing her bright eyes very intently first on one and then on the other of the friends she was leaving, she ended with a long parting look at Winthrop which lasted till she had passed from sight out of the door of the shed.

The violence of the storm was gone over; but though the thunder sounded now in the distance and the lightning played fainter, the rain fell yet all around them, in a gentle and very full shower.

"Do you suppose she has six miles to go?" said Elizabeth.

"No."

"I thought you answered as if you believed her when she said so."

"It isn't best to tell all one's thoughts," said Winthrop smiling.

Elizabeth went back to her box seat.

"I wish the rain would let us go home too," she said.

"Your wishes are so accustomed to smooth travelling, they don't know what to make of a hindrance," said her companion.

Elizabeth knew it was true, and it vexed her. It seemed to imply that she had not been tried by life, and that nobody knew what she would be till she was tried. That was a very disagreeable thought. There again he had the advantage of her. Nothing is reliable that is not tried. "And yet," she said to herself, "I am reliable. I know I am."

"What can anybody's wish make of a hindrance?" was her reply.

"Graff it in well, and anybody can make a pretty large thorn of it."

"Why Mr. Winthrop! — but I mean, in the way of dealing with it pleasantly?"

"Pleasantly? — I don't know," said he; "unless they could get my mother's recipe."

"What does her wish do with a hindrance?"

"It lies down and dies," he said, with a change of tone which shewed whither his thoughts had gone.

"I think I never wish mine to do that," said Elizabeth.

"What then? Remember you are speaking of hindrances absolute — that cannot be removed."

"But Mr. Winthrop, do you think it is possible for one's wish to lie down and die so?"

"If I had not seen it, I might say that it was not."

"I don't understand it —I don't know what to make of it," said Elizabeth. "I don't think it is possible for mine."

Winthrop's thoughts went back a moment to the sweet calm brow, the rested face, that told of its truth and possibility in one instance.. He too did not understand it, but he guessed where the secret might lie.

"It must be a very happy faculty," said Elizabeth; — "but it seems to me — of course it is not so in that instance, — but in the abstract, it seems to me rather tame; — I don't like it. I have no idea of giving up!"

"There is no need of your giving up, in this case," said Winthrop. "Do you see that sunshine?"

"And the rainbow!" said Elizabeth.

She sprang to the door; and they both stood looking, while the parting gifts of the clouds were gently reaching the ground, and the sun taking a cleared place in the western heaven, painted over against them, broad and bright, the promissory token that the earth should be overwhelmed with the waters no more. The rain-drops glittered as they fell; the grass looked up in refreshed green where the sun touched it; the clouds were driving over from the west, leaving broken fragments behind them upon the blue; and the bright and sweet colours of the rainbow swept their circle in the east and almost finished it in the grass at the door of the blacksmith's shop. It was a lovely show of beauty that is as fresh the hundredth time as the first. But though Elizabeth looked at it and admired it, she was thinking of something else.

"You have no overshoes," said Winthrop, when they had set out on their way; — "I am afraid you are not countrywoman enough to bear this."

"O yes I am," said Elizabeth, — "I don't mind it — I don't care for it. But Mr. Winthrop —"

"What were you going to say?" he asked, when he had waited half a minute to find out.

"You understood that I did not mean to speak of your mother, when I said that, about thinking it seemed tame to let one's wishes die out? — I excepted her entirely in my thought — I was speaking quite in the abstract."

"I know that, Miss Elizabeth."

She was quite satisfied with the smile with which he said it.

"How much better that odd little black child liked you than she did me," she went on with a change of subject and tone together.

"You were a little further off," said Winthrop.

"Further off?" said Elizabeth.

"I suppose she thought so."

"Then one must come near people in order to do them good?"

"One mustn't be too far off," said Winthrop, "to have one's words reach them."

"But I didn't mean to be far off," said Elizabeth.

"I didn't mean to be near."

Elizabeth looked at him, but he was grave; and then she smiled, and then laughed.

"You've hit it!" she exclaimed. "I shall remember that."

"Take care, Miss Elizabeth," said Winthrop, as her foot slipped in the muddy way, — "or you will have more to remember than would be convenient. You had better take my arm."

So she did; musing a little curiously at herself and that arm, which she had seen in a shirt-sleeve, carrying a pickaxe on shoulder; and making up her mind in spite of it all that she didn't care! So the walk home was not otherwise than comfortable. Indeed the beauty of it was more than once remarked on by both parties.

"Well!" said Rose, when at last Elizabeth came into the room where she was sitting, — "have you got home?"

"Yes."

"What have you been doing all this while?"

"Getting very angry at you in the first place; and then cooling down as usual into the reflection that it was not worth while."

"Well, I hope Winthrop made good use of his opportunity?"

"Yes, he did," said Elizabeth coolly, taking off her things.

"And you have engaged him at last as your admirer?"

"Not at all; — I have only engaged a little black girl to be my servant."

"A servant! What?"

"What do you mean by 'what'?" said Elizabeth contemptuously.

"I mean, what sort of a servant?"

"I am sure I don't know — a black servant."

"But what for?"

"To do my bidding."

"But what is she? and where did you pick her up?"

"She is an odd little fish called Clam; and I didn't pick her up at all; — Mr. Landholm did that."

"O ho!" said Rose, — "it's a joint concern! — that's it. But I think you are beginning to make up your household very early."

Elizabeth flung down her shoe and lifted her head, and Miss Cadwallader shrunk; even before her companion said with imperious emphasis, "Rose, how dare you! —"

Rose did not dare, against the flushed face and eye of fire which confronted her. She fell back into her chair and her book and was dumb.

CHAPTER XX.

Ford. They do say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Somewhat to Winthrop's surprise, Clam came the next day to remind him of his promise; very much in earnest to wear a clean frock and have her dinner regular. She was duly bound, and entered into clean service accordingly. The indentures were made out to Miss Haye; but for the present Clam was put to learn her business under somebody that knew it; and for that end was finally sent to Mrs. Landholm. A week or two with Mrs. Nettley proved to the satisfaction of both parties that neither would much advantage the other. At Shahweetah, Clam, as Mrs. Landholm expressed it, "took a new start," and got on admirably. What much favoured this, was the fact that she speedily became very much attached to the whole family; with the single exception of Karen, between whom and herself there was an unallayed state of friction; a friction that probably served only to better Clam's relish of her dinner, while poor Karen declared "she didn't leave her no rest day nor night."

"She's not a bad child, Karen," said her mistress.

"Which part of her 's good?" said Karen. "'Taint her eyes, nor her fingers; and if the Bible didn't say there wa'n't no such a fountain, I should think her tongue was one o' them fountains that sent out at the same place both salt water and fresh."

"Her fingers are pretty good, Karen."

"There's a two-sided will in 'em, Mrs. Landholm."

There was no two-sided will in Clam's first friend, nor in the energies which were steadily bearing him on towards his aim. Steadily and surely, as he knew. But his life in those days had almost as little to tell of, as it had much to do. From early morning till — almost till early morning again, or till a new day had begun to count the hours, — every minute had its work; yet the record of the whole could be given in very few words, and those would not be interesting. How should the record be, when the reality was not, even to himself. It was all preparatory work; it must be done; but the interest of the matter lay beyond, at that point whither all these efforts tended. Meanwhile work and have patience, and work, — was the epitome of his life.

There were some breaks, but not many. Now and then a swift and sweet run home, to live for a moment in the midst of all this preparing to live; to rest among the home hearts; to breathe a few breaths in absolute freedom; to exchange Mr. De Wort's dusty office for the bright little keeping-room of the farmhouse, and forget the business of the hard brick and stone city under the shadow or the sunshine that rested on Wut-a- qut-o. Then Winthrop threw off his broadcloth coat and was a farmer again. Then Mrs. Landholm's brow laid down its care, and shewed to her son only her happy face. Then poor Winifred was strong and well and joyous, in the spite of sickness and weakness and nervous ail. And then also, Clam sprang round with great energy, and was as Karen averred, "fifty times worse and better than ever."

But all faded and died away, save the sweet memory and refreshment; that staid yet a little while. Winthrop went back to his musty parchments and lonely attic; and the little family at home gathered itself together for a new season of duty-doing, and hope, and looking forward. The sunshine and the shadow slept upon Wut-a-qut-o, as it did a little while ago; but neither sunshine nor shadow was the same thing now, for Winthrop was away.

He had lost perhaps less than they; though the balance was struck pretty fair. But he was actively bending every energy to the accomplishment of a great object. The intensity of effort might swallow up some other things, and the consciousness of sure and growing success might make amends for them. Besides, he had been long fighting the battle of life away from home, and was accustomed to it; they never got accustomed to it. Every fresh coming home was the pledge of a fresh parting, the pleasure of the one not more sure than the pain of the other. If Winthrop had changed, in all these years and goings and comings, it might have been different; if they could have found that their lost treasure was less true or strong or fair, than when they first let it go. But he was so exactly the same Winthrop that they had been sorry for that first time, that they could only be sorry again with the same sorrow; — the same, but for the lost novelty of that first time, and the added habit of patience, and the nearer hope of his and their reward.

So through the first winter and the first summer, and the second winter and the second summer, of his city apprenticeship, Winthrop wrought on; now with a cold room and little fire in his chimney, and now with the sun beating upon the roof, and the only hope of night's sea-breeze. But the farmer's boy had known cold and heat a great while ago, and he could bear both. He could partly forget both, sometimes in literary unbending with Mr. Herder and his friends; and at other times in a solitary walk on the Green overlooking the bay, to catch the sea-breeze more fresh and soon, and look up the river channel towards where the shadows lay upon Wut-a- qut-o. And sometimes in a visit at Mr. Haye's.

Of late, in the second summer, this last sort of pleasure- taking grew to be more frequent. Mr. Herder was less visited, and Mr. Haye more. Winthrop was always welcome, but there was no change in the manner of his being received. Unless perhaps a little more graciousness on Elizabeth's part, and a trifle less on Rose's, might be quoted.

So the sea-breezes blew through the dog-days; and September ushered in and ushered out its storms; and October came, clear and fair, with strength and health for body and mind. With October came Rufus, having just made an end of his work in the North country. He came but for a few days' stay in passing from one scene of labours to another. For those few days he abode with his brother, sharing his room and bed.

"Well, Winthrop, I've stuck to my choice," he remarked, the second evening of his being there. The tone indicated the opening of a great budget of thoughts. Winthrop was bending over a parchment-coloured volume, and Rufus pacing up and down the longest stretch of the little room.

"I am glad of it," said Winthrop, without looking up.

"I am not sure that I am."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't see that I gain much by it, and I certainly lose."

"What do you expect to gain?"

"Nothing but money, — and I don't get that."

"It's safe, isn't it?"

"Yes, and so are winter's snows, in their treasury; — and I could as soon get it by asking for it."

"Let us hope it will come with the snows," said Winthrop, his head still bent down over his book.

"You may talk; — it is easy waiting for you."

"Query, how that would give me a right to talk," said Winthrop turning over a leaf; — "supposing it to be a fact; of which I have some doubts."

"What have you been doing all to-day?"

"The usual routine — which after all is but preparing to do."

"What has been the routine to-day?"

"You saw my breakfast and saw me get it. — Then I went out. — Then I read, according to custom."

"What?"

"Classics."

"Do you!"

"For awhile. The rest of the morning between engrossing deeds and the Record Office. First half of the afternoon, or rather a larger proportion, ditto; the rest to meet my friends Messrs. Jones and Satterthwaite."

"Satterthwaite! — what does he want?"

"To read Greek with me."

"Greek! What has put that into his head? Bob. Satterthwaite!" — and Rufus threw back his head and laughed in a great state of amusement. "What has put that into his head? — eh, Winthrop?"

"I don't inquire. It puts money in my pocket."

"Not much," said Rufus.

"No, not much."

"What's the reason, do you think? What moves him to woo the Muses? — I'm afraid it's because he thinks it is a preliminary wooing he must go through before he can be successful in another quarter."

And again Rufus laughed, in high delight.

"I have no business with that," said Winthrop.

"What are you doing now?"

"Studying law."

"Stop."

"What for?"

"To talk to me."

"It seems to me I have been doing that for some time," said Winthrop, without looking off his book.

"But I haven't begun. Winthrop, — I have a great mind to give up this engineering business."

"To do what instead?"

"Why — you know I shall have some money coming to me — quite a little sum; — Mr. Haye has very kindly offered to put me in the way of laying it out to good advantage, and eventually of getting into another line of occupation which would at the same time be more lucrative, less laborious, and would keep me in the regions of civilization. — And perhaps — Winthrop — something might follow thereupon, —"

"What?" said his brother looking up.

"Something —"

"More definite in your purpose than in your speech."

"Not my purpose, exactly," said Rufus, — "but in possibility."

"There is no peg in possibility for a wise man to hang his cap on."

"Perhaps I am not a wise man," said Rufus, with a very queer face, as if his mind were giving an askance look at the subject.

"That's a supposititious case I shall leave you to deal with."

"Why it's the very sort of case it's your business to deal with," said Rufus. "If the world was full of wise men you'd stand a pretty fair chance of starving, Governor. But seriously, — do you think it is unbecoming a wise man to take any lawful means of keeping out of the way of that same devil of starvation?"

"Do you mean to say that you are in any danger of it?" said Winthrop looking up again.

"Why no, — not exactly; taking the words literally. But one may starve and yet have enough to eat."

"If one refuses one's food."

"If one don't! I tell you, I have been starving for these two years past. It is not living, to make to-day only feed to- morrow. Besides — I don't see any harm in purchasing, if one can, an exemption from the universal doom of eating one's bread in the sweat of one's brow."

"I think it depends entirely on what one pays for the purchase," said Winthrop.

"Suppose one pays nothing."

"One executes a most unaccountable business transaction."

Rufus stopped and looked at him, and then took up his walk, and half laughing went on.

"Suppose we leave talking in the dark, and understand one another. Do you know what I am driving at?"

"Have you set off?" said Winthrop, with again a glance which seemed to add to Rufus's amusement.

"No," he said, — "I am just waiting for you to give me leave."

"The reins are not in my hands."

"Yes they are. Seriously, Winthrop, do you know what we are talking about? — What do you think of my making suit to one of these ladies?"

"I do not think about it."

"You do not conceive it would be any disfavour to either of them to induce her to accept me, I suppose. — What do you say?"

"You are indifferent towards which of them the suit should incline?" said Winthrop.

"Why, that's as it may be — I haven't thought enough about it to know. They're a pretty fair pair to choose from —"

"Supposing that you have the choice," said Winthrop.

"Do you know anything to the contrary? —Has anybody else a fairer entrance than myself?"

"I am not on sufficiently near terms with the family to be able to inform you."

"Do you think of entering your plough, Governor?"

"Not in your field."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am not in your way."

"Shall I be in yours?"

"No," said his brother coolly.

"In whose way then?"

"I am afraid in your own, Will."

"How do you mean?" asked the other a little fiercely.

"If you are so intent upon marrying money-bags, you may chance to get a wife that will not suit you."

"You must explain yourself!" said Rufus haughtily. "In what respect would either of these two not suit me?"

"Of two so different, it may safely be affirmed that if one would the other would not."

"Two so different!" said Rufus. "What's the matter with either of them?"

"There is this the matter with both —that you do not know them."

"I do know them!"

"From the rest of the world; but not from each other."

"Why not from each other?"

"Not enough for your liking or your judgment to tell which would suit you."

"Why would not either suit?" said Rufus.

"I think — if you ask me — that one would not make you happy, in the long run; and the other, with your present views and aims, you could not make happy."

"Which is which?" said Rufus, laughing and drawing up a chair opposite his brother.

"Either of them is which," said Winthrop. "Such being the case, I don't know that it is material to inquire."

"It is very material! for I cannot be satisfied without the answer. I am in earnest in the whole matter, Winthrop."

"So am I, very much in earnest."

"Which of them should I not make happy?" — Rufus went on. — "Rose? — She is easily made happy."

"So easily, that you would be much more than enough for it."

"Then it is the other one whose happiness you are afraid for?"

"I don't think it is in much danger from you."

"Why? —what then?" said Rufus quickly.

"I doubt whether any one could succeed with her whose first object was something else."

Rufus drew his fingers through his hair, in silence, for about a minute and a half; with a face of thoughtful and somewhat disagreeable consideration.

"And with the other one you think he could?"

"What?"

"Succeed? — one whose first object, as you say, was something else?"

"With the other I think anybody could."

"I don't know but I like that," said Rufus; — "it is amiable. She has more simplicity. She is a lovely creature!"

"If you ask your eye."

"If I ask yours!" —

"Every man must see with his own eyes," said Winthrop.

"Don't yours see her lovely?"

"They might, if they had not an inward counsellor that taught them better."

"She is very sweet-tempered and sweet-mannered," said Rufus.

"Very."

"Don't you think so?"

"Certainly — when it suits her."

"When it suits her!"

"Yes. She is naturally rude, and politically polite."

"And how's the other one? isn't she naturally rude too?"

"Not politically anything."

"And you think she wouldn't have me?"

"I am sure she would not, if she knew your motive."

"My motive! — but my motive might change," said Rufus, pushing back his chair and beginning to walk the floor again. "It isn't necessary that my regards should be confined to her gracious adjunctive recommendations. —"

He walked for some time without reply, and again the leaves of Winthrop's book said softly now and then that Winthrop's head was busy with them.

"Governor, you are very unsatisfactory!" said his brother at length, standing now in front of him.

Winthrop looked up and smiled and said, "What would you have?"

"Your approbation!" — was the strong and somewhat bitter thought in Rufus's mind. He paused before he spoke.

"But Governor, really I am tired of this life — it isn't what I am fit for; — and why not escape from it, if I can, by some agreeable road that will do nobody any harm?"

"With all my heart," said Winthrop. "I'll help you."

"Well? —"

"Well —"

"You think this is not such a one?"

"The first step in it being a stumble."

"To whom would it bring harm, Governor?"

"The head must lower when the foot stumbles," said Winthrop. "That is one harm."

"But you are begging the question!" said Rufus a little impatiently.

"And you have granted it."

"I haven't!" said Rufus. "I don't see it. I don't see the stumbling or the lowering. I should not feel myself lowered by marrying a fine woman, and I hope she would not feel her own self-respect injured by marrying me."

"You will not stand so high upon her money-bags as upon your own feet."

"Why not have the advantage of both?"

"You cannot. People always sit down upon money-bags. The only exception is in the case of money-bags they have filled themselves."

Rufus looked at Winthrop's book for three minutes in silence.

"Well, why not then take at once the ease, for which the alternative is a long striving?"

"If you can. But the long striving is not the whole of the alternative; with that you lose the fruits of the striving — all that makes ease worth having."

"But I should not relinquish them," said Rufus. "I shall not sit down upon my money-bags."

"They are not your money-bags."

"They will be — if I prove successful."

"And how will you prove successful?"

"Why!" — said Rufus, — "what a question! —"

"I wish you would answer it nevertheless — not to me, but to yourself."

Whether Rufus did or not, the answer never came out. He paced the floor again; several times made ready to speak, and then checked himself.

"So you are entirely against me, —" he said at length.

"I am not against you, Will; — I am for you."

"You don't approve of my plan."

"No —I do not."

"I wish you would say why."

"I hardly need," said Winthrop with a smile. "You have said it all to yourself."

"Notwithstanding which assumption, I should like to hear you say it."

"For the greater ease of attack and defence?"

"If you please. For anything."

"What do you want me to do, Will?" said Winthrop looking up.

"To tell me why I should not marry Miss Haye or Miss Cadwallader."

"You not knowing, yourself."

"Yes — I don't," said Rufus.

Winthrop turned over a few leaves of his book and then spoke.

"You are stronger, not to lean on somebody else's strength. You are more independent, not to lean at all. You are honester, not to gain anything under false pretences. And you are better to be yourself, Will Landholm, than the husband of any heiress the sun shines upon, at such terms."