"I would rather trust a sick head to the handling of the lovely lady than the superb one, at a venture."

"I thought you never had a sick head," said Charlton.

"That is lucky for me, as the hands do not happen to be at my service. But no imagination could put Miss Constance in Desdemona's place, when Othello complained of his headache you remember, Charlton,

"Faith, that's with watching 'twill away again Let me but bind this handkerchief about it hard.' "

Thorn gave the intonation truly and admirably.

"Fleda never said anything so soft as that," said Charlton.

"No?"

"No."

"You speak well, but soft! do you know what you are talking about there?"

"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was nothing soft about Othello; what you quoted of his wife just now seemed to me to smack of that quality."

"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly would not forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all Shakespeare, it is Desdemona; and if there is a pretty combination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is that one."

"What one?"

"Your pretty cousin."

Charlton was silent.

"It is generous in me to undertake her defence," Thorn went on, "for she bestows as little of her fair countenance upon me as she can well help. But try as she will, she cannot be so repellent as she is attractive."

Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace not favourable to conversation; and they rode forward in silence, till, in descending the hill below Deepwater, they came within view of Hugh's work-place, the saw-mill. Charlton suddenly drew bridle.

"There she is."

"And who is with her?" said Thorn. "As I live! our friend what's his name? who has lost all his ancestors. And who is the other?"

"My brother," said Charlton.

"I don't mean your brother, Captain Rossitur," said Thorn, throwing himself off his horse.

He joined the party, who were just leaving the mill to go down towards the house. Very much at his leisure, Charlton dismounted, and came after him.

"I have brought Charlton safe home, Miss Ringgan," said Thorn, who, leading his horse, had quietly secured a position at her side.

"What's the matter?" said Fleda, laughing. "Couldn't he bring himself home?"

"I don't know what's the matter, but he's been uncommonly dumpish; we've been as near as possible to quarrelling for half a dozen miles back."

"We have been a more agreeably employed," said Dr. Quackenboss, looking round at him with a face that was a concentration of affability.

"I make no doubt of it, Sir; I trust we shall bring no unharmonious interruption. If I may change somebody else's words," he added more low to Fleda " 'disdain itself must convert to courtesy in your presence.' "

"I am sorry disdain should live to pay me a compliment," said Fleda. "Mr. Thorn, may I introduce to you, Mr. Olmney?"

Mr. Thorn honoured the introduction with perfect civility, but then fell back to his former position and slightly lowered tone.

"Are you then a sworn foe to compliments?"

"I was never so fiercely attacked by them as to give me any occasion."

"I should be very sorry to furnish the occasion; but what's the harm in them, Miss Ringgan?"

"Chiefly a want of agreeableness."

"Of agreeableness! Pardon me; I hope you will be so good as to give me the rationale of that?"

"I am of Miss Edgeworth's opinion, Sir," said Fleda, blushing, " that a lady may always judge of the estimation in which she is held, by the conversation which is addressed to her."

"And you judge compliments to be a doubtful indication of esteem!"

"I am sure you do not need information on that point, Sir."

"As to your opinion, or the matter of fact?" said he, somewhat keenly.

"As to the matter of fact," said Fleda, with a glance both simple and acute in its expression.

"I will not venture to say a word," said Thorn, smiling. "Protestations would certainly fall flat at the gates where les douces paroles cannot enter. But do you know this is picking a man's pocket of all his silver pennies, and obliging him to produce his gold?"

"That would be a hard measure upon a good many people," said Fleda, laughing. "But they're not driven to that. There's plenty of small change left."

"You certainly do not deal in the coin you condemn," said Thorn, bowing. "But you will remember that none call for gold but those who can exchange it, and the number of them is few. In a world where cowrie passes current, a man may be excused for not throwing about his guineas."

"I wish you'd throw about a few for our entertainment," said Charlton, who was close behind. "I haven't seen a yellow-boy in a good while."

"A proof that your eyes are not jaundiced," said his friend, without turning his head, "whatever may be the case with you otherwise. Is he out of humour with the country-life you like so well, Miss Ringgan? or has he left his domestic tastes in Mexico? How do you think he likes Queechy?"

"You might as well ask myself," said Charlton.

"How do you think he likes Queechy, Miss Ringgan?"

"I am afraid something after the fashion of Touchstone," said Fleda, laughing; "he thinks, that 'in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought. In respect that it is solitary, he likes it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth him well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.' "

"There's a guinea for you, Captain Rossitur," said his friend. "Do you know out of what mint?"

"It doesn't bear the head of Socrates," said Charlton.

" 'Hast no philosophy in thee,' Charlton?" said Fleda, laughing back at him.

"Has not Queechy a the honour of your approbation, Captain Rossitur?" said the doctor.

"Certainly, Sir; I have no doubt of its being a very fine country."

"Only he has imbibed some doubts whether happiness be an indigenous crop," said Thorn.

"Undoubtedly," said the doctor, blandly; "to one who has roamed over the plains of Mexico, Queechy must seem rather a a rather flat place."

"If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn.

"Undoubtedly, Sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor; "they are a marked feature in the landscape, and do much to relieve a the charge of sameness."

"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney, smiling, "happiness is not a thing of circumstance; it depends on a man's self."

"I used to think so," said Thorn; "that is what I have always subscribed to; but I am afraid I could not live in this region and find it so long."

"What an evening!" said Fleda. "Queechy is doing its best to deserve our regards under this light. Mr. Olmney, did you ever notice the beautiful curve of the hills in that hollow where the sun sets?"

"I do notice it now," he said.

"It is exquisite!" said the doctor. "Captain Rossitur, do you observe, Sir in that hollow where the sun sets?"

Captain Rossitur's eye made a very speedy transition from the hills to Fleda, who had fallen back a little to take Hugh's arm, and placing herself between him and Mr. Olmney, was giving her attention undividedly to the latter. And to him she talked perseveringly of the mountains, the country, and the people, till they reached the courtyard gate. Mr. Olmney then passed on. So did the doctor, though invited to tarry, averring that the sun had gone down behind the firmament, and he had something to attend to at home.

"You will come in, Thorn," said Charlton.

"Why, I had intended returning; but the sun has gone down indeed, and as our friend says there is no chance of our seeing him again, I may as well go in and take what comfort is to be had in the circumstances. Gentle Euphrosyne, doth it not become the Graces to laugh?"

"They always ask leave, Sir," said Fleda, hesitating.

"A most Grace-ful answer, though it does not smile upon me," said Thorn.

"I am sorry, Sir," said Fleda, smiling now, "that you have so many silver pennies to dispose of we shall never get at the gold."

"I will do my very best," said he.

So he did, and made himself agreeable that evening to every one of the circle; though Fleda's sole reason for liking to see him come in had been, that she was glad of everything that served to keep Charlton's attention from home subjects. She saw sometimes the threatening of a cloud that troubled her.

But the Evelyns and Thorn, and everybody else whom they knew, left the Pool at last, before Charlton, who was sufficiently well again, had near run out his furlough; and then the cloud, which had only showed itself by turns during all those weeks, gathered and settled determinately upon his brow.

He had long ago supplied the want of a newspaper. One evening in September, the family were sitting in the room where they had had tea, for the benefit of the fire, when Barby pushed open the kitchen door and came in.

"Fleda, will you let me have one of the last papers? I've a notion to look at it."

Fleda rose and went to rummaging in the cupboards.

"You can have it again in a little while," said Barby, considerately.

The paper was found, and Miss Elster went out with it.

"What an unendurable piece of ill-manners that woman is!" said Charlton.

"She has no idea of being ill-mannered, I assure you," said Fleda,.

His voice was like a brewing storm hers was so clear and soft that it made a lull in spite of him. But he began again.

"There is no necessity for submitting to impertinence. I never would do it."

"I have no doubt you never will," said his father. "Unless you can't help yourself."

"Is there any good reason, Sir, why you should not have proper servants in the house?"

"A very good reason," said Mr. Rossitur. "Fleda would be in despair."

"Is there none beside that?" said Charlton, dryly.

"None except a trifling one," Mr. Rossitur answered, in the same tone.

"We cannot afford it, dear Charlton," said his mother, softly.

There was a silence, during which Fleda moralized on the ways people take to make themselves uncomfortable.

"Does that man to whom you let the farm does he do his duty?"

"I am not the keeper of his conscience."

" I am afraid it would be a small charge to any one," said Fleda.

"But are you the keeper of the gains you ought to have from him? Does he deal fairly by you?"

"May I ask first what interest it is of yours?"

"It is my interest, Sir, because I come home and find the family living upon the exertions of Hugh and Fleda, and find them growing thin and pale under it."

"You, at least, are free from all pains of the kind, Captain Rossitur."

"Don't listen to him, uncle Rolf!" said Fleda, going round to her uncle, and making, as she passed, a most warning impression upon Charlton's arm "don't mind what he says that young gentleman has been among the Mexican ladies till he has lost an eye for a really proper complexion. Look at me! do I look pale and thin? I was paid a most brilliant compliment the other day upon my roses. Uncle, don't listen to him! he hasn't been in a decent humour since the Evelyns went away."

She knelt down before him and laid her hands upon his, and looked up in his face to bring all her plea the plea of most winning sweetness of entreaty in features yet flushed and trembling. His own did not unbend as he gazed at her, but he gave her a silent answer in a pressure of the hands that went straight from his heart to hers. Fleda's eye turned to Charlton appealingly.

"Is it necessary," he repeated, "that that child and this boy should spend their days in labour to keep the family alive?"

"If it were," replied Mr. Rossitur, "I am very willing that their exertions should cease. For my own part, I would quite as lief be out of the world as in it."

"Charlton! how can you!" said Fleda, half-beside herself "you should know of what you speak, or be silent! Uncle, don't mind him! he is talking wildly my work does me good."

"You do not understand yourself," said Charlton, obstinately; "it is more than you ought to do, and I know my mother thinks so, too."

"Well!" said Mr. Rossitur "it seems there is an agreement in my own family to bring me to the bar get up, Fleda, let us hear all the charges to be brought against me, at once, and then pass sentence. What have you and your mother agreed upon, Charlton? go on!"

Mrs. Rossitur, now beyond speech, left the room, weeping even aloud. Hugh followed her. Fleda wrestled with her agitation for a minute or two, and than got up and put both arms round her uncle's neck.

"Don't talk so, dear uncle Rolf! you make us very unhappy aunt Lucy did not mean any such thing it is only Charlton's nonsense. Do go and tell her you don't think so you have broken her heart by what you said; do go, uncle Rolf! do go and make her happy again! Forget it all! Charlton did not know what he was saying wont you go, dear uncle Rolf? "

The words were spoken between bursts of tears that utterly overcame her, though they did not hinder the utmost caressingness of manner. It seemed at first spent upon a rock. Mr. Rossitur stood like a man that did not care what happened or what became of him dumb and unrelenting suffering her sweet words and imploring tears, with no attempt to answer the one or stay the other. But he could not hold out against her beseeching. He was no match for it. He returned at last heartily the pressure of her arms, and, unable to give her any other answer, kissed her two or three times such kisses as are charged with the heart's whole message; and, disengaging himself, left the room.

For a minute after he was gone, Fleda cried excessively; and Charlton, now alone with her, felt as if he had not a particle of self-respect left to stand upon. One such agony would do her more harm than whole weeks of labour and weariness. He was too vexed and ashamed of himself to be able to utter a word, but when she recovered a little, and was leaving the room, he stood still by the door in an attitude that seemed to ask her to speak a word to him.

"I am sure, Charlton," she said, gently, "you'll be sorry to- morrow for what you have done."

"I am sorry now," he said. But she passed out without saying anything more.

Captain Rossitur passed the night in unmitigated vexation with himself. But his repentance could not have been very genuine, since his most painful thought was, what Fleda must think of him.

He was somewhat reassured at breakfast to find no traces of the evening's storm; indeed, the moral atmosphere seemed rather clearer and purer than common. His own face was the only one which had an unusual shade upon it. There was no difference in anybody's manner towards himself; and there was even a particularly gentle and kind pleasantness about Fleda, intended, he knew, to soothe and put to rest any movings of self-reproach he might feel. It somehow missed of its aim, and made him feel worse; and after, on his part, a very silent meal, he quitted the house, and took himself and his discontent to the woods.

Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the morning before he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the breakfast-room, sewing; and for the first time noticed the look his mother had spoken of a look not of sadness, but rather of settled, patient gravity; the more painful to see, because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes, and might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring. Charlton's displeasure with the existing state of things had revived as his remorse died away, and that quiet face did not have a quieting effect upon him.

"What on earth is going on?" he began, rather abruptly, as soon as he entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on foot?"

"I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda. "It was set on foot in the kitchen, and it has walked in here. If you open the window, it will walk out."

"But you will be cold?"

"Never mind in that case I will walk out too, into the kitchen."

"Into the thick of it! No I will try some other way of relief. This is unendurable!"

Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding the look, Mr. Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

"Barby," said he, "you have got something cooking here that is very disagreeable in the other room."

"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney. I guess the draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."

"But I tell you it fills the house!"

"Well, it'll have to a spell yet," said Barby, "cause if it didn't, you see, Captain Rossitur, there'd be nothing to fill Fleda's chickens with."

"Chickens! where's all the corn in the land?"

"It's some place besides in our barn," said Barby. "All last year's is out, and Mr. Didenhover aint fetched any of this year's home; so I made a bargain with 'em, they shouldn't starve as long as they'd eat boiled pursley."

"What do you give them?"

"Most everything they aint particular now-a-days chunks o' cabbages, and scarcity, and pun'kin, and that all the sass that aint wanted."

"And do they eat that?"

"Eat it!" said Barby; "they don't know how to thank me for't."

"But it ought to be done out of doors," said Charlton, coming black from a kind of maze in which he had been listening to her. "It is unendurable."

"Then I guess you'll have to go some place where you wont know it," said Barby "that's the most likely plan I can hit upon; for it'll have to stay on till it's ready."

Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted, and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingers.

"Is it come to this!" he said at length. "Is it possible that you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable supply of food your fowls want?"

"That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly though she smothered a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more than that."

"What is the reason?"

"Why, this man Didenhover is a rogue, I suspect, and he manages to spirit away all the profits that should come to uncle Rolf's hands I don't know how. We have lived almost entirely upon the mill for some time."

"And has my father been doing nothing all this while?"

"Nothing on the farm."

"And what of anything else?"

"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident unwillingness. "But surely, Charlton, he knows his own business best. It is not our affair."

"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the floor.

"No," said Fleda, with equal gentleness and sadness, "he is only unhappy; I understand it all he has had no spirit to take hold of anything ever since we came here."

"Spirit!" said Charlton; "he ought to have worked off his fingers to their joints before he let you do as you have been doing!"

"Don't say so!" said Fleda, looking even pale in her eagerness "don't think so, Charlton! it isn't right. We cannot tell what he may have had to trouble him; I know he has suffered, and does suffer a great deal. Do not speak again about anything as you did last night! Oh," said Fleda, now shedding bitter tears, "this is the worst of growing poor the difficulty of keeping up the old kindness, and sympathy, and care, for each other!"

"I am sure it does not work so upon you," said Charlton, in an altered voice.

"Promise me, dear Charlton," said Fleda, looking up after a moment, and drying her eyes again, "promise me you will not say any more about these things! I am sure it pains uncle Rolf more than you think. Say you will not for your mother's sake!"

"I will not Fleda for your sake. I would not give you any more trouble to bear. Promise me that you will be more careful of yourself in future."

"Oh there is no danger about me," said Fleda, with a faint smile, and taking up her work again!

"Who are you making shirts for?" said Charlton, after a pause."

"Hugh."

"You do everything for Hugh, don't you?"

"Little enough. Not half so much as he does for me."

"Is he up at the mill to-day?"

"He is always there," said Fleda, sighing.

There was another silence.

"Charlton," said Fleda, looking up with a face of the loveliest insinuation "isn't there something you might do to help us a little?"

"I will help you garden, Fleda, with pleasure."

"I would rather you should help somebody else," said she, still looking at him.

"What, Hugh? You would have me go and work at the mill for him, I suppose?"

"Don't be angry with me, Charlton, for suggesting it," said Fleda, looking down again.

"Angry!" said he. "But is that what you would have me do."

"Not unless you like; I didn't know but you might take his place once in a while for a little, to give him a rest "

"And suppose some of the people from Montepoole, that know me, should come by? What are you thinking of?" said he, in a tone that certainly justified Fleda's deprecation.

"Well!" said Fleda, in a kind of choked voice "there is a strange rule of honour in vogue in the world."

"Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else?"

"He is killing himself!" said Fleda, letting her work fall, and hardly speaking the words through thick tears. Her head was down, and they came fast. Charlton stood abashed for a minute.

"You sha'n't do so, Fleda," said he gently, endeavouring to raise her "you have tired yourself with this miserable work! Come to the window you have got low-spirited, but, I am sure, without reason about Hugh but you shall set me about what you will; you are right, I dare say, and I am wrong; but don't make me think myself a brute, and I will do anything you please."

He had raised her up, and made her lean upon him. Fleda wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

"I will do anything that will please you, Fleda."

"It is not to please me," she answered, meekly.

"I would not have spoken a word last night if I had known it would have grieved you so."

"I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reason for doing right," said Fleda, gently.

"Upon my word, I think you are about as good reason as anybody need have," said Charlton.

She put her hand upon his arm, and looked up such a look of pure rebuke, as carried to his mind the full force of the words she did not speak, "Who art thou that carest for a worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord thy Maker!" Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently away, and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.

"What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length.

"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance and a smile. "I don't think you are very bad."

"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please of me."

He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself know at the moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But she had no notion of any depth in his words.

"A hopeless task!" she answered, lightly, shaking her head, as she got down on her knees to blow the fire; "I am afraid it is too much for me. I have been trying to mend you ever since you came, and I cannot see the slightest change for the better."

"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton, in another tone.

"It has expired its last breath," said Fleda. "In other words, it has lost its nose."

"Well, look here," said he, laughing and pulling her away "you will stand a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in the fire. You sha'n't do it. Come and show me where to find the scattered parts of that old wind instrument, and I will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again."



CHAPTER XXV.

"I dinna ken what I should want If I could get but a man." SCOTCH BALLAD.

Captain Rossitur did no work at the saw-mill. But Fleda's words had not fallen to the ground. He began to show care for his fellow-creatures in getting the bellows mended; his next step was to look to his gun; and from that time, so long as he stayed, the table was plentifully supplied with all kinds of game the season and the country could furnish. Wild ducks and partridges banished pork and bacon even from memory; and Fleda joyfully declared she would not see another omelette again till she was in distress.

While Charlton was still at home came a very urgent invitation from Mrs. Evelyn, that Fleda should pay them a long visit in New York, bidding her care for no want of preparation, but come and make it there. Fleda demurred, however, on that very score. But before her answer was written another missive came from Dr. Gregory, not asking so much as demanding her presence, and enclosing a fifty dollar bill, for which he said he would hold her responsible till she had paid him with, not her own hands, but her own lips. There was no withstanding the manner of this entreaty. Fleda packed up some of Mrs. Rossitur's laid-by silks, to be refreshed with an air of fashion, and set off with Charlton at the end of his furlough.

To her simple spirit of enjoyment the weeks ran fast; and all manner of novelties and kindnesses helped them on. It was a time of cloudless pleasure. But those she had left thought it long. She wrote them how delightfully she kept house for the old doctor, whose wife had long been dead, and how joyously she and the Evelyns made time fly And every pleasure she felt awoke almost as strong a throb in the hearts at home. But they missed her, as Barby said, "dreadfully;" and she was most dearly welcomed when she came back. It was just before New Year.

For half an hour there was most gladsome use of eyes and tongues. Fleda had a great deal to tell them.

"How well how well you are looking, dear Fleda!" said her aunt, for the third or fourth time.

"That's more than I can say for you and Hugh, aunt Lucy. What have you been doing to yourselves?"

"Nothing new," they said, as her eye went from one to the other.

"I guess you have wanted me!" said Fleda, shaking her head, as she kissed them both again.

"I guess we have," said Hugh, "but don't fancy we have grown thin upon the want."

"But where's uncle Rolf? you didn't tell me."

"He is gone to look after those lands in Michigan."

"In Michigan! When did he go?"

"Very soon after you."

"And you didn't let me know! Oh, why didn't you? How lonely you must have been!"

"Let you know, indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, wrapping her in her arms again; "Hugh and I counted every week that you stayed, with more pleasure each one."

"I understand!" said Fleda, laughing under her aunt's kisses. "Well, I am glad I am at home again to take care of you. I see you can't get along without me."

"People have been very kind, Fleda," said Hugh.

"Have they?"

"Yes thinking we were desolate, I suppose. There has been no end to aunt Miriam's goodness and pleasantness."

"Oh, aunt Miriam, always!" said Fleda. "And Seth."

"Catherine Douglass has been up twice to ask if her mother could do anything for us; and Mrs. Douglass sent us once a rabbit, and once a quantity of wild pigeons that Earl had shot. Mother and I lived upon pigeons for I don't know how long. Barby wouldn't eat 'em she said she liked pork better; but I believe she did it on purpose."

"Like enough," said Fleda, smiling, from her aunt's arms where she still lay.

"And Seth has sent you plenty of your favourite hickory nuts, very fine ones; and I gathered butternuts enough for you near home."

"Everything is for me," said Fleda. "Well, the first thing I do shall be to make some butternut candy for you. You wont despise that Mr. Hugh?"

Hugh smiled at her, and went on.

"And your friend Mr. Olmney has sent us a corn-basket fill of the superbest apples you ever saw. He has one tree of the finest in Queechy, he says."

"My friend!" said Fleda, colouring a little.

"Well, I don't know whose he is, if he isn't yours," said Hugh. "And even the Finns sent us some fish that their brother had caught, because, they said, they had more than they wanted. And Dr. Quackenboss sent us a goose and a turkey. We didn't like to keep them, but we were afraid, if we sent them back, it would not be understood."

"Send them back!" said Fleda. "That would never do! All Queechy would have rung with it."

"Well, we didn't," said Hugh. "But so we sent one of them to Barby's old mother, for Christmas."

"Poor Dr. Quackenboss!" said Fleda. "That man has as near as possible killed me two or three times. As for the others, they are certainly the oddest of all the finny tribes. I must go out and see Barby for a minute."

It was a good many minutes, however, before she could get free to do any such thing.

"You han't lost no flesh," said Barby, shaking hands with her anew. "What did they think of Queechy keep, down in York?"

"I don't know I didn't ask them," said Fleda. "How goes the world with you, Barby?"

"I'm mighty glad you are come home, Fleda," said Barby, lowering her voice.

"Why?" said Fleda, in a like tone.

"I guess I aint all that's glad of it," Miss Elster went on, with a glance of her bright eye.

"I guess not," said Fleda, reddening a little "but what is the matter?"

"There's two of our friends ha'n't made us but one visit apiece since oh, ever since some time in October!"

"Well, never mind the people," said Fleda. "Tell me what you were going to say."

"And Mr. Olmney," said Barby, not minding her, "he's took and sent us a great basket chock full of apples. Now, wa'n't that smart of him, when he knowed there wa'n't no one here that cared about 'em ?"

"They are a particularly fine kind," said Fleda.

"Did you hear about the goose and turkey?"

"Yes," said Fleda, laughing.

"The doctor thinks he has done the thing just about right, this time, I 'spect. He had ought to take out a patent right for his invention. He'd feel spry if he knowed who ate one on 'em."

"Never mind the doctor, Barby. Was this what you wanted to see me for?"

"No," said Barby, changing her tone. "I'd give something it was. I've been all but at my wit's end; for you know, Mis' Rossitur aint no hand about anything I couldn't say a word to her; and ever since he went away, we have been just winding ourselves up. I thought I should clear out, when Mis' Rossitur said, maybe you wa'n't a-coming till next week."

"But what is it, Barby? what is wrong?"

"There ha'n't been anything right, to my notions, for a long spell," said Barby, wringing out her dish-cloth hard, and flinging it down, to give herself uninterruptedly to talk; "but now you see, Didenhover, nor none of the men, never comes near the house to do a chore; and there aint wood to last three days; and Hugh aint fit to cut it if it was piled up in the yard; and there aint the first stick of it out of the woods yet."

Fleda sat down, and looked very thoughtfully into the fire.

"He had ought to ha' seen to it afore he went away; but he ha'n't done it, and there it is."

"Why, who takes care of the cows?" said Fleda.

"Oh, never mind the cows," said Barby, "they aint suffering I wish we was as well off as they be; but I guess, when he went away, he made a hole in our pockets for to mend his'n. I don't say he hadn't ought to ha' done it, but we've been pretty short ever sen, Fleda we're in the last bushel of flour, and there aint but a handful of corn meal, and mighty little sugar, white or brown. I did say something to Mis' Rossitur, but all the good it did was to spoil her appetite, I s'pose; and if there's grain in the floor, there aint nobody to carry it to mill nor to thrash it nor a team to draw it, fur's I know."

"Hugh cannot cut wood," said Fleda, "nor drive to mill either, in this weather."

"I could go to mill," said Barby, "now you're to hum; but that's only the beginning, and it's no use to try to do everything flesh and blood must stop somewhere."

"No, indeed!" said Fleda. "We must have somebody immediately."

"That's what I had fixed upon," said Barby. "If you could get hold o' some young feller that wa'n't sot up with an idee that he was a grown man and too big to be told, I'd just clap to and fix that little room up-stairs for him, and give him his victuals here, and we'd have some good of him; instead o' having him streaking off just at the minute when he'd ought to be along."

"Who is there we could get, Barby?"

"I don't know," said Barby; "but they say there is never a nick that there aint a jog some place; so I guess it can be made out. I asked Mis' Plumfield, but she didn't know anybody that was out of work; nor Seth Plumfield. I'll tell you who does that is, if there is anybody Mis' Douglass. She keeps hold. of one end of most everybody's affairs, I tell her. Anyhow, she's a good hand to go to."

"I'll go there at once," said Fleda. "Do you know anything about making maple sugar, Barby?"

"That's the very thing," exclaimed Barby, ecstatically. "There's lots o' sugar-maples on the farm, and it's murder to let them go to loss; and they ha'n't done us a speck o' good ever since I come here. And in your grandfather's time, they used to make barrels and barrels. You and me and Hugh, and somebody else we'll have, we could clap to and make as much sugar and molasses in a week as would last us till spring come round again. There's no sense into it All we'd want would be to borrow a team some place. I had all that in my head long ago. If we could see the last of that man, Didenhover, oncet, I'd take hold of the plough myself, and see if I couldn't make a living out of it. I don't believe the world would go now, Fleda, if it wa'n't for women. I never see three men, yet, that didn't try me more than they were worth."

"Patience, Barby!" said Fleda, smiling. "Let us take things quietly."

"Well, I declare, I'm beat, to see how you take 'em," said Barby, looking at her lovingly.

"Don't you know why, Barby?"

"I s'pose I do," said Barby, her face softening still more "or I can guess."

"Because I know that all these troublesome things will be managed in the best way, and by my best Friend, and I know that He will let none of them hurt me. I am sure of it isn't that enough to keep me quiet?"

Fleda's eyes were filling, and Barby looked away from them.

"Well, it beats me," she said, taking up her dish-cloth again, "why you should have anything to trouble you. I can understand wicked folks being plagued, but I can't see the sense of the good ones."

"Troubles are to make good people better, Barby."

"Well," said Barby, with a very odd mixture of real feeling and seeming want of it, "it's a wonder I never got religion, for I will say that all the decent people I ever see were of that kind, Mis' Rossitur aint, though, is she?"

"No," said Fleda, a pang crossing her at the thought that all her aunt's loveliness must tell directly and heavily in this case to lighten religion's testimony. It was that thought, and no other, which saddened her brow as she went back into the other room.

"Troubles already!" said Mrs. Rossitur. "You will be sorry you have come back to them, dear."

"No, indeed," said Fleda, brightly; "I am very glad I have come home. We will try and manage the troubles, aunt Lucy."

There was no doing anything that day, but the very next afternoon Fleda and Hugh walked down through the snow to Mrs. Douglass's. It was a long walk and a cold one, and the snow was heavy; but the pleasure of being together made up for it all. It was a bright walk, too, in spite of everything.

In a most thrifty-looking well-painted farm-house, lived Mrs. Douglass.

"Why, 'taint you, is it'?" she said, when she opened the door "Catharine said it was, and I said I guessed it wa'n't, for I reckoned you had made up your mind not to come and see me at all. How do you do?"

The last sentence in the tone of hearty and earnest hospitality. Fleda made her excuses.

"Ay, ay I can understand all that just as well as if you said it. I know how much it means, too. Take off your hat."

Fleda said she could not stay, and explained her business.

"So you ha'n't come to see me, after all? Well, now, take off your hat 'cause I wont have anything to say to you till you do. I'll give you supper right away."

"But I have left my aunt alone, Mrs. Douglass; and the afternoons are so short now, it would be dark before we could get home."

"Serve her right for not coming along! and you sha'n't walk home in the dark, for Earl will harness the team, and carry you home like a streak the horses have nothing to do. Come, you sha'n't go."

And as Mrs. Douglass laid violent hands on her bonnet, Fleda thought best to submit. She was presently rewarded with the promise of the very person she wanted a boy, or young man, then in Earl Douglass's employ; but his wife said, "she guessed he'd give him up to her;" and what his wife said, Fleda knew Earl Douglass was in the habit of making good.

"There aint enough to do to keep him busy," said Mrs. Douglass. "I told Earl he made me more work than he saved; but he's hung on till now."

"What sort of a boy is he, Mrs. Douglass."

"He aint a steel-trap, I tell you beforehand," said the lady, with one of her sharp intelligent glances; "he don't know which way to go till you show him; but he's a clever enough kind of a chap he don't mean no harm. I guess he'll do for what you want."

"Is he to be trusted?"

"Trust him with anything but a knife and fork," said she, with another look and shake of the head. "He has no idee but what everything on the supper-table is meant to be eaten straight off. I would keep two such men as my husband as soon as I would Philetus."

"Philetus!" said Fleda "the person that brought the chicken, and thought he had brought two?"

"You've hit it," said Mrs. Douglass. "Now you know him. How do you like our new minister?"

"We are all very much pleased with him."

"He's very good-looking, don't you think so?"

"A very pleasant face."

"I ha'n't seen him much yet except in church; but those that know, say he is very agreeable in the house."

"Truly, I dare say," answered Fleda, for Mrs. Douglass's face looked for her testimony.

"But I think he looks as if he was beating his brains out there among his books. I tell him he is getting the blues, living in that big house by himself."

"Do you manage to do all your work without help, Mrs. Douglass?" said Fleda, knowing that the question was in "order," and that the affirmative answer was not counted a thing to he ashamed of.

"Well, I guess I'll know good reason," said Mrs. Douglass, complacently, "before I'll have any help to spoil my work. Come along, and I'll let you see whether I want one."

Fleda went, very willingly, to be shown all Mrs. Douglass's household arrangements and clever contrivances, of her own or her husband's devising, for lessening or facilitating labour. The lady was proud, and had some reason to be, of the very superb order and neatness of each part and detail. No corner or closet that might not be laid open fearlessly to a visitor's inspection. Miss Catharine was then directed to open her piano, and amuse Fleda with it while her mother performed her promise of getting an early supper a command grateful to one or two of the party, for Catharine had been carrying on all this while a most stately tte—tte with Hugh, which neither had any wish to prolong. So Fleda filled up the time good naturedly with thrumming over the two or three bits of her childish music that she could recall, till Mr. Douglass came in, and they were summoned to sit down to supper; which Mrs. Douglass introduced by telling her guests "they must take what they could get, for she had made fresh bread and cake and pies for them two or three times, and she wasn't a-going to do it again."

Her table was abundantly spread, however, and with most exquisite neatness; and everything was of excellent quality, saving only certain matters which call for a free hand in the use of material. Fleda thought the pumpkin pies must have been made from that vaunted stock which is said to want no eggs nor sugar, and the cakes, she told Mrs. Rossitur afterwards, would have been good if half the flour had been left out, and the other ingredients doubled, The deficiency in one kind, however, was made up by superabundance in another; the table was stocked with such wealth of crockery that one could not imagine any poverty in what was to go upon it. Fleda hardly knew how to marshal the confusion of plates which grouped themselves around her cup and saucer, and none of them might be dispensed with. There was one set of little glass dishes for one kind of sweetmeat, another set of ditto for another kind; an army of tiny plates to receive and shield the tablecloth from the dislodged cups of tea, saucers being the conventional drinking vessels; and there were the standard bread and butter plates, which, besides their proper charge of bread and butter, and beef, and cheese, were expected, Fleda knew, to receive a portion of every kind of cake that might happen to be on the table. It was a very different thing, however, from Miss Anastasia's tea-table, or that of Miss Flora Quackenboss. Fleda enjoyed the whole time without difficulty.

Mr. Douglass readily agreed to the transfer of Philetus's services.

"He's a good boy!" said Earl he's a good boy; he's as good a kind of a boy as you need to have. He wants tellin'; most boys want tellin'; but he'll do when he is told, and he means to do right."

"How long do you expect your uncle will be gone?" said Mrs. Douglass.

"I do not know," said Fleda.

"Have you heard from him since he left?"

"Not since I came home," said Fleda. "Mr. Douglass, what is the first thing to be done about the maple-trees in the sugar season?"

"Why, you calculate to try makin' sugar in the spring?"

"Perhaps at any rate I should like to know about it."

"Well, I should think you would," said Earl, "and it's easy done there aint nothin' easier, when you know the right way to set to work about it; and there's a fine lot of sugar trees on the old farm I recollect of them sugar trees as long ago as when I was a boy I've helped to work them afore now, but there's a good many years since has made me a leetle older; but the first thing you want is a man and a team, to go about and empty the buckets the buckets must be emptied every day and then carry it down to the house."

"Yes, I know," said Fleda; "but what is the first thing to be done to the trees?"

"Why, la! 'tain't much to do to the trees all you've got to do is to take an axe and chip a bit out, and stick a chip a leetle way into the cut for to dreen the sap, and set a trough under, and then go on to the next one, and so on; you may make one or two cuts in the south side of the tree, and one or two cuts in the north side, if the tree's big enough, and if it aint, only make one or two cuts in the south side of the tree; and for the sap to run good, it had ought to be that kind o' weather when it freezes in the day and thaws by night; I would say! when it friz in the night and thaws in the day; the sap runs more bountifully in that kind o' weather."

It needed little from Fleda to keep Mr. Douglass at the maple- trees till supper was ended; and then, as it was already sundown, he went to harness the sleigh.

It was a comfortable one, and the horses, if not very handsome nor bright-curried, were well fed and had good heart to their work. A two-mile drive was before them, and with no troublesome tongues or eyes to claim her attention, Fleda enjoyed it fully. In the soft clear winter twilight, when heaven and earth mingle so gently, and the stars look forth brighter and cheerfuller than ever at another time, they slid along over the fine roads, too swiftly, towards home; and Fleda's thoughts as easily and swiftly slipped away from Mr. Douglass, and maple-sugar, and Philetus, and an unfilled woodyard, and an empty flour-barrel, and revelled in the pure ether. A dark rising ground covered with wood sometimes rose between her and the western horizon; and then a long stretch of snow, only less pure, would leave free view of its unearthly white light, dimmed by no exhalation, a gentle, mute, but not the less eloquent, witness to earth of what heaven must be.

But the sleigh stopped at the gate, and Fleda's musings came home.

"Good night!" said Earl, in reply to their thanks and adieus; " 'taint anything to thank a body for let me know when you're a-goin' into the sugar-making, and I'll come and help you."

"How sweet a pleasant message may make an unmusical tongue!" said Fleda, as she and Hugh made their way up to the house.

"We had a stupid enough afternoon," said Hugh.

"But the ride home was worth it all!"



CHAPTER XXVI.

" 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing." LADY OF THE LAKE.

Philetus came, and was inducted into office and the little room immediately; and Fleda felt herself eased of a burden. Barby reported him stout and willing, and he proved it by what seemed a perverted inclination for bearing the most enormous logs of wood he could find into the kitchen.

"He will hurt himself!" said Fleda.

"I'll protect him! against anything but buckwheat batter," said Barby, with a grave shake of her head. "Lazy folks takes the most pains, I tell him. But it would be good to have some more ground, Fleda, for Philetus says he don't care for no dinner when he has griddles to breakfast, and there aint anything much cheaper than that."

"Aunt Lucy, have you any change in the house?" said Fleda, that same day.

"There isn't but three and sixpence," said Mrs. Rossitur, with a pained, conscious look. "What is wanting, dear?"

"Only candles Barby has suddenly found we are out, and she wont have any more made before to-morrow. Never mind."

"There is only that," repeated Mrs. Rossitur. "Hugh has a little money due to him from last summer, but he hasn't been able to get it yet. You may take that, dear."

"No," said Fleda, "we mustn't. We might want it more."

"We can sit in the dark for once, said Hugh, "and try to make an uncommon display of what Dr. Quackenboss calls 'sociality!' "

"No," said Fleda, who had stood busily thinking, "I am going to send Philetus down to the post-office for the paper, and when it comes, I am not to be balked of reading it; I've made up my mind. We'll go right off into the woods and get some pine knots, Hugh come! They make a lovely light. You get us a couple of baskets and the hatchet; I wish we had two; and I'll be ready in no time. That'll do!"

It is to be noticed, that Charlton had provided against any future deficiency of news in his family. Fleda skipped away, and in five minutes returned arrayed for the expedition, in her usual out-of-door working trim, namely, an old dark merino cloak, almost black, the effect of which was continued by the edge of an old dark mousseline below, and rendered decidedly striking by the contrast of a large whitish yarn shawl worn over it; the whole crowned with a little close-fitting hood made of some old silver-grey silk, shaped tight to the head, without any bow or furbelow to break the outline. But such a face within side of it! She came almost dancing into the room.

"This is Miss Ringgan! as she appeared when she was going to see the pine-trees. Hugh, don't you wish you had a picture of me?"

"I have got a tolerable picture of you, somewhere," said Hugh.

"This is somebody very different from the Miss Ringgan that went to see Mrs. Evelyn, I can tell you," Fleda went on, gaily. "Do you know, aunt Lucy, I have made up my mind that my visit to New York was a dream, and the dream is nicely folded away with my silk dresses. Now, I must go tell that precious Philetus about the post-office; I am so comforted, aunt Lucy, whenever I see that fellow staggering into the house under a great log of wood! I have not heard anything in a long time so pleasant as the ringing strokes of his axe in the yard. Isn't life made up of little things?"

"Why don't you put a better pair of shoes on?"

"Can't afford it, Mrs. Rossitur. You are extravagant."

"Go and put on my India-rubbers."

"No, Ma'am the rocks would cut them to pieces. I have brought my mind down to my shoes."

"It isn't safe, Fleda; you might see somebody."

"Well, Ma'am! But I tell you I am not going to see anybody but the chick-a-dees and the snow-birds, and there is great simplicity of manners prevailing among them."

The shoes were changed, and Hugh and Fleda set forth, lingering a while, however, to give a new edge to their hatchet Fleda turning the grindstone. They mounted then the apple-orchard hill, and went a little distance along the edge of the table-land, before striking off into the woods. They had stood still a minute to look over the little white valley to the snow-dressed woodland beyond.

"This is better than New York, Hugh," said Fleda.

"I am very glad to hear you say that," said another voice. Fleda turned, and started a little to see Mr. Olmney at her side, and congratulated herself instantly on her shoes.

"Mrs. Rossitur told me where you had gone, and gave me permission to follow you, but I hardly hoped to overtake you so soon."

"We stopped to sharpen our tools," said Fleda. "We are out on a foraging expedition."

"Will you let me help you?"

"Certainly if you understand the business. Do you know a pine-knot when you see it?"

He laughed, and shook his head, but avowed a wish to learn.

"Well, it would be a charity to teach you anything wholesome," said Fleda; "for I heard one of Mr. Olmney's friends lately saying that he looked like a person who was in danger of committing suicide."

"Suicide! One of my friends!" he exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment.

"Yes," said Fleda, laughing; "and there is nothing like the open air for clearing away vapours."

"You cannot have known that by experience," said he, looking at her.

Fleda shook her head, and, advising him to take nothing for granted, set off into the woods.

They were in a beautiful state. A light snow, but an inch or two deep, had fallen the night before; the air had been perfectly still during the day; and though the sun was out, bright and mild, it had done little but glitter on the earth's white capping. The light dry flakes of snow had not stirred from their first resting-place. The long branches of the large pines were just tipped with snow at the ends; on the smaller evergreens every leaf and tuft had its separate crest. Stones and rocks were smoothly rounded over, little shrubs and sprays that lay along the ground were all doubled in white; and the hemlock branches, bending with their feathery burden, stooped to the foreheads of the party, and gave them the freshest of salutations as they brushed by. The whole wood-scene was particularly fair and graceful. A light veil of purity, no more, thrown over the wilderness of stones, and stumps, and bare ground like the blessing of charity, covering all roughnesses and unsightlinesses like the innocent, unsullied nature that places its light shield between the eye and whatever is unequal, unkindly, and unlovely in the world.

"What do you think of this for a misanthropical man, Mr. Olmney? there's a better tonic to be found in the woods than in any remedies of man's devising."

"Better than books?" said he.

"Certainly! No comparison."

"I have to learn that yet."

"So I suppose," said Fleda. "The very danger to be apprehended, as I hear, Sir, is from your running a tilt into some of those thick folios of yours, head foremost. There's no pitch there, Hugh you may leave it alone. We must go on there are more yellow pines higher up."

"But who could give such a strange character of me to you?" said Mr. Olmney.

"I am sure your wisdom would not advise me to tell you that, Sir. You will find nothing there, Mr. Olmney."

They went gaily on, careering about in all directions, and bearing down upon every promising stump or dead pine-tree they saw in the distance. Hugh and Mr. Olmney took turns in the labour of hewing out the fat pine knots, and splitting down the old stumps to get at the pitchy heart of the wood; and the baskets began to grow heavy. The whole party were in excellent spirits, and as happy as the birds that filled the woods, and whose cheery "chick-a-dee-dee-dee" was heard whenever they paused to rest, and let the hatchet be still.

"How one sees everything in the colour of one's own spectacles!" said Fleda.

"May I ask what colour yours are to-day?" said Mr. Olmney.

"Rose, I think," said Hugh.

"No," said Fleda, "they are better than that they are no worse colour than the snow's own they show me everything just as it is. It could not be lovelier."

"Then we may conclude, may we not," said Mr. Olmney, "that you are not sorry to find yourself in Queechy again?"

"I am not sorry to find myself in the woods again. That is not pitch, Mr. Olmney."

"It has the same colour and weight."

"No, it is only wet see this, and smell of it do you see the difference? Isn't it pleasant?"

"Everything is pleasant to-day," said he, smiling.

"I shall report you a cure. Come, I want to go a little higher and show you a view. Leave that, Hugh we have got enough."

But Hugh chose to finish an obstinate stump, and his companions went on without him. It was not very far up the mountain, and they came to a fine look-out point the same where Fleda and Mr. Carleton had paused long before on their quest after nuts. The wide spread of country was a white waste now; the delicate beauties of the snow were lost in the far view; and the distant Catskill showed wintrily against the fair blue sky. The air was gentle enough to invite them to stand still, after the exercise they had taken; and as they both looked in silence, Mr. Olmney observed that his companion's face settled into a gravity rather at variance with the expression it had worn.

"I should hardly think," said he, softly, "that you were looking through white spectacles, if you had not told us so."

"Oh a shade may come over what one is looking at, you know," said Fleda. But seeing that he still watched her inquiringly, she added

"I do not think a very wide landscape is ever gay in its effect upon the mind do you?"

"Perhaps I do not know," said he, his eyes turning to it again, as if to try what the effect was.

"My thoughts had gone back," said Fleda, "to a time a good while ago, when I was a child, and stood here in summer weather and I was thinking that the change in the landscape is something like that which years make in the mind."

"But you have not, for a long time at least, known any very acute sorrow?"

"No," said Fleda, "but that is not necessary. There is a gentle kind of discipline which does its work, I think, more surely."

"Thank God for gentle discipline!" said Mr. Olmney; "if you do not know what those griefs are that break down mind and body together."

"I am not unthankful, I hope, for anything," said Fleda, gently; "but I have been apt to think that, after a crushing sorrow, the mind may rise up again, but that a long-continued though much lesser pressure in time breaks the spring."

He looked at her again with a mixture of incredulous and tender interest, but her face did not belie her words, strange as they sounded from so young and in general so bright-seeming a creature.

"There shall no evil happen to the just," he said, presently, and with great sympathy.

Fleda flashed a look of gratitude at him it was no more, for she felt her eyes watering, and turned them away.

"You have not, I trust, heard any bad news?"

"No, Sir not at all."

"I beg pardon for asking, but Mrs. Rossitur seemed to be in less good spirits than usual." He had some reason to say so, having found her in a violent fit of weeping.

"You do not need to be told," he went on, "of the need there is that a cloud should now and then come over this lower scene the danger that, if it did not, our eyes would look nowhere else?"

There is something very touching in hearing a kind voice say what one has often struggled to say to one's-self.

"I know it, Sir," said Fleda, her words a little choked "and one may not wish the cloud away but it does not the less cast a shade upon the face. I guess Hugh has worked his way into the middle of that stump by this time, Mr. Olmney."

They rejoined him; and the baskets being now sufficiently heavy, and arms pretty well tired, they left the further riches of the pine woods unexplored, and walked sagely homewards. At the brow of the table-land, Mr. Olmney left them to take a shorter cut to the high road, having a visit to make which the shortening day warned him not to defer.

"Put down your basket, and rest a minute, Hugh," said Fleda. "I had a world of things to talk to you about, and this blessed man has driven them all out of my head."

"But you are not sorry he came along with us?"

"O no. We had a very good time. How lovely it is, Hugh! Look at the snow down there without a track; and the woods have been dressed by the fairies. Oh, look how the sun is glinting on the west side of that hillock!"

"It is twice as bright since you have come home," said Hugh.

"The snow is too beautiful to-day. Oh, I was right! One may grow morbid over books, but I defy anybody, in the company of those chick-a-dees. I should think it would be hard to keep quite sound in the city."

"You are glad to be here again, aren't you?" said Hugh.

"Very! O, Hugh! it is better to be poor, and have one's feet on these hills, than to be rich, and shut up to brick walls!"

"It is best as it is," said Hugh, quietly.

"Once," Fleda went on "one fair day, when I was out driving in New York, it did come over me with a kind of pang, how pleasant it would be to have plenty of money again, and be at ease; and then, as I was looking off over that pretty north river to the other shore, I bethought me 'A little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked.' "

Hugh did not answer, for the face she turned to him, in its half-tearful, half-bright submission, took away his speech.

"Why, you cannot have enjoyed yourself as much as we thought, Fleda, if you dislike the city so much."

"Yes, I did. Oh, I enjoyed a great many things. I enjoyed being with the Evelyns. You don't know how much they made of me every one of them father and mother, and all the three daughters and uncle Orrin. I have been well petted, I can tell you, since I have been gone."

"I am glad they showed so much discrimination," said Hugh; "they would be puzzled to make too much of you."

"I must have been in a remarkably discriminating society," said Fleda, "for everybody was very kind."

"How do you like the Evelyns, on a nearer view?"

"Very much, indeed; and I believe they really love me. Nothing could possibly be kinder, in all ways of showing kindness. I shall never forget it."

"Who were you driving with that day?" said Hugh.

"Mr. Thorn."

"Did you see much of him?"

"Quite as much as I wished. Hugh, I took your advice."

"About what?" said Hugh.

"I carried down some of my scribblings, and sent them to a magazine."

"Did you!" said Hugh, looking delighted. "And will they publish them?"

"I don't know," said Fleda; "that's another matter. I sent them, or uncle Orrin did, when I first went down; and I have heard nothing of them yet."

"You showed them to uncle Orrin?"

"Couldn't help it, you know. I had to."

"And what did he say to them?"

"Come! I'm not going to be cross-questioned," said Fleda, laughing. "He did not prevent my sending them."

"And if they take them, do you expect they will give anything for them the magazine people?"

"I am sure, if they don't, they shall have no more; that is my only possible inducement to let them be printed. For my own pleasure, I would far rather not."

"Did you sign with your own name?"

"My own name! Yes, and desired it to be printed in large capitals. What are you thinking of? No! I hope you'll forgive me, but I signed myself what our friend the doctor calls 'Yugh.' "

"I'll forgive you, if you'll do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Show me all you have in your portfolio Do, Fleda! to- night, by the light of the pitch-pine knots. Why shouldn't you give me that pleasure? And, besides, you know Molire had an old woman?"

"Well," said Fleda, with a face that to Hugh was extremely satisfactory, "we'll see I suppose you might as well read my productions in manuscript as in print. But they are in a terribly scratchy condition they go sometimes for weeks in my head before I find time to put them down you may guess, polishing is pretty well out of the question. Suppose we try to get home with these baskets."

Which they did.

"Has Philetus got home?" was Fleda's first question.

"No," said Mrs. Rossitur, "but Dr. Quackenboss has been here, and brought the paper; he was at the post-office this morning, he says. Did you see Mr. Olmney?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and I feel he has saved me from a lame arm those pine-knots are so heavy."

"He is a lovely young man!" said Mrs. Rossitur, with uncommon emphasis.

"I should have been blind to the fact, aunt Lucy, if you had not made me change my shoes. At present, no disparagement to him, I feel as if a cup of tea would be rather more lovely than anything else."

"He sat with me some time," said Mrs. Rossitur; "I was afraid he would not overtake you."

Tea was ready, and only waiting for Mrs. Rossitur to come down stairs, when Fleda, whose eye was carelessly running along the columns of the paper, uttered a sudden shout, and covered her face with it. Hugh looked up in astonishment, but Fleda was beyond anything but exclamations, laughing and flushing to the very roots of her hair.

"What is the matter, Fleda?"

"Why," said Fleda, "how comical! I was just looking over the list of articles in the January number of the Excelsior"

"The Excelsior!" said Hugh.

"Yes the magazine I sent my things to I was running over their advertisement here, where they give a special puff of the publication in general, and of several things in particular, and I saw here they speak of 'A tale of thrilling interest, by Mrs. Eliza Lothbury, unsurpassed,' and so forth, and so forth; 'another valuable communication from Mr. Charleston, whose first acute and discriminating paper all our leaders will remember; the beginning of a new tale from the infallibly graceful pen of Miss Delia Lawriston: we are sure it will be so and so; 'The Wind's Voices,' by our new correspondent, 'Hugh,' has a delicate sweetness that would do no discredit to some of our most honoured names!' What do you think of that?"

What Hugh thought he did not say, but he looked delighted, and came to read the grateful words for himself.

"I did not know but they had declined it utterly," said Fleda; "it was so long since I had sent it, and they had taken no notice of it; but it seems they kept it for the beginning of a new volume."

" 'Would do no discredit to some of our most honoured names!' " said Hugh. "Dear Fleda, I am very glad! But it is no more than I expected."

"Expected!" said Fleda. "When you had not seen a line! Hush, my dear Hugh, aren't you hungry?"

The tea, with this spice to their appetites, was wonderfully relished; and Hugh and Fleda kept making despatches of secret pleasure and sympathy to each other's eyes; though Fleda's face, after the first flush had faded, was perhaps rather quieter than usual. Hugh's was illuminated.

"Mr. Skillcorn is a smart man," said Barby, coming in with a package; "he has made out to go two miles in two hours, and get back again safe."

"More from the post-office!" exclaimed Fleda, pouncing upon it. "O yes, there has been another mail. A letter for you, aunt Lucy, from uncle Rolf. We'll forgive him, Barby and here's a letter for me, from uncle Orrin, and yes the Excelsior. Hugh, uncle Orrin said he would send it. Now for those blessed pineknots. Aunt Lucy, you shall be honoured with the one whole candle the house contains."

The table soon cleared away, the basket of fat fuel was brought in; and one or two splinters being delicately insinuated between the sticks on the fire, a very brilliant illumination sprang out. Fleda sent a congratulatory look over to Hugh on the other side of the fireplace, as she cosily established herself on her little bench at one corner with her letter: he had the magazine. Mrs. Rossitur between them at the table, with her one candle, was already insensible to all outward things.

And soon the other two were as delightfully absorbed. The bright light of the fire shone upon three motionless and rapt figures, and getting no greeting from them, went off and danced on the old cupboard doors and paper-hangings, in a kindly hearty joviality, that would have put any number of stately wax candles out of countenance. There was no poverty in the room that night. But the people were too busy to know how cosy they were, till Fleda was ready to look up from her note, and Hugh had gone twice carefully over the new poem when there was a sudden giving out of the pine splinters. New ones were supplied in eager haste and silence, and Hugh was beginning "The Wind's Voices," for the third time, when a soft-whispered "Hugh!" across the fire, made him look over to Fleda's corner. She was holding up, with both hands, a five- dollar bank note, and just showing him her eyes over it.

"What's that?" said Hugh, in an energetic whisper.

"I don't know!" said Fleda, shaking her head comically; "I am told 'The Wind's Voices' have blown it here, but, privately, I am afraid it is a windfall of another kind."

"What?" said Hugh, laughing.

"Uncle Orrin says it is the first-fruits of what I sent to the Excelsior, and that more will come; but I do not feel at all sure that it is entirely the growth of that soil."

"I dare say it is," said Hugh; "I am sure it is worth more than that. Dear Fleda, I like it so much!"

Fleda gave him such a smile of grateful affection not at all as if she deserved his praise, but as if it was very pleasant to have.

"What put it into your head? anything in particular?"

"No nothing I was looking out of the window one day, and seeing the willow-tree blow; and that looked over my shoulder; as you know Hans Andersen says his stories did."

"It is just like you! exactly as it can be."

"Things put themselves in my head," said Fleda, tucking another splinter into the fire. "Isn't this better than a chandelier?"

"Ten times!"

"And so much pleasanter for having got it ourselves. What a nice time we had, Hugh!"

"Very. Now for the portfolio, Fleda come mother is fast; she wont see or hear anything. What does father say, mother?"

In answer to this they had the letter read, which, indeed, contained nothing remarkable beyond its strong expressions of affection to each one of the little family a cordial which Mrs. Rossitur drank and grew strong upon in the very act of reading. It is pity the medicine of kind words is not more used in the world it has so much power. Then, having folded up her treasure and talked a little while about it, Mrs. Rossitur caught up the magazine like a person who had been famished in that kind; and soon she and it and her tallow candle formed a trio apart from all the world again. Fleda and Hugh were safe to pass most mysterious-looking little papers from hand to hand right before her, though they had the care to read them behind newspapers, and exchanges of thought and feeling went on more swiftly still, and softly, across the fire. Looks, and smiles, and whispers, and tears too, under cover of a Tribune and an Express. And the blaze would die down just when Hugh had got to the last verse of something, and then while impatiently waiting for the new pine splinters to catch, he would tell Fleda how much he liked it, or how beautiful he thought it, and whisper inquiries and critical questions; till the fire reached the fat vein, and leaped up in defiant emulation of gas-lights unknown, and then he would fall to again with renewed gusto. And Fleda hunted out in her portfolio what bits to give him first, and bade him, as she gave them, remember this and understand that, which was necessary to be borne in mind in the reading. And through all the brightening and fading blaze, and all the whispering, congratulating, explaining, and rejoicing going on at her side, Mrs. Rossitur and her tallow candle were devoted to each other, happily and engrossingly. At last, however, she flung the magazine from her, and turning from the table sat looking into the fire with a rather uncommonly careful and unsatisfied brow.

"What did you think of the second piece of poetry there, mother?" said Hugh "that ballad? 'The Wind's Voices,' it is called."

" 'The Wind's Voices?' I don't know I didn't read it, I believe."

"Why, mother! I liked it very much. Do read it read it aloud."

Mrs. Rossitur took up the magazine again abstractedly, and read

" 'Mamma, what makes your face so sad? The sound of the wind makes me feel glad; But whenever it blows, as grave you look As if you were reading a sorrowful book.'

" 'A sorrowful book I am reading, dear A book of weeping, and pain, and fear A book deep printed on my heart, Which I cannot read but the tears will start.

" 'That breeze to my ear was soft and mild, Just so, when I was a little child; But now I hear in its freshening breath The voices of those that sleep in death.'

" 'Mamma,' said the child, with shaded brow, What is this book you are reading now? And why do you read what makes you cry?' 'My child, it comes up before my eye;

" ' 'Tis the memory, love, of a far-off day, When my life's best friend was taken away; Of the weeks and months that my eyes were dim, Watching for tidings watching for him.

" 'Many a year has come and pass'd Since a ship sailed over the ocean fast, Bound for a port on England's shore She sail'd but was never heard of more.'

" 'Mamma' and she closer press'd her side 'Was that the time when my father died? Is it his ship you think you see? Dearest mamma wont you speak to me?'

"The lady paused, but then calmly said Yes, Lucy the sea was his dying bed! And now, whenever I hear the blast, I think again of that storm long past.

" 'The winds' fierce howlings hurt not me, But I think how they beat on the pathless sea Of the breaking mast of the parting rope Of the anxious strife, and the failing hope.'

" 'Mamma,' said the child, with streaming eyes, My father has gone above the skies; And you tell me this world is mean and base Compared with heaven that blessed place.'

" 'My daughter, I know I believe it all I would not his spirit to earth recal. The bless'd one he his storm was brief Mine, a long tempest of tears and grief.

" 'I have you, my darling I should not sigh I have one star more in my cloudy sky The hope that we both shall join him there, In that perfect rest from weeping and care.' "

"Well, mother; how do you like it?" said Hugh, whose eyes gave tender witness to his liking for it.

"It is pretty" said Mrs. Rossitur.

Hugh exclaimed, and Fleda, laughing, took it out of her hand.

"Why, mother," said Hugh "it is Fleda's!"

"Fleda's!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, snatching the magazine again. "My dear child, I was not thinking in the least of what I was reading. Fleda's!"

She read it over anew, with swimming eyes this time, and then clasped Fleda in her arms, and gave her, not words, but the better reward of kisses and tears. They remained so a long time, even till Hugh left them; and then Fleda, released from her aunt's embrace, still crouched by her side with one arm in her lap.

They both sat thoughtfully looking into the fire till it had burnt itself out, and nothing but a glowing bed of coals remained.

"That is an excellent young man," said Mrs. Rossitur.

"Who?"

"Mr. Olmney. He sat with me some time after you had gone."

"So you said before," said Fleda, wondering at the troubled expression of her aunt's face.

"He made me wish," said Mrs. Rossitur, hesitating, "that I could be something different from what I am I believe I should be a great deal happier."

The last word was hardly spoken. Fleda rose to her knees, and putting both arms about her aunt, pressed face to face, with a clinging sympathy that told how very near her spirit was, while tears from the eyes of both fell without measure.

"Dear aunt Lucy dear aunt Lucy I wish you would I am sure you would be a great deal happier "

But the mixture of feelings was too much for Fleda; her head sank lower on her aunt's bosom, and she wept aloud.

"But I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Rossitur, as well as she could speak "I am as ignorant as a child!"

"Dear aunty! that is nothing God will teach you, if you ask him he has promised. Oh, ask him, aunt Lucy! I know you would be happier. I know it is better a million times to be a child of God, than to have everything in the world. If they only brought us that, I would be very glad of all our troubles indeed I would."

"But I don't think I ever did anything right in my life," said poor Mrs. Rossitur.

"Dear aunt Lucy!" said Fleda, straining her closer, and with her very heart gushing out at these words "dear aunty, Christ came for just such sinners for just such as you and I."

"You," said Mrs. Rossitur, but speech failed utterly, and with a muttered prayer that Fleda would help her she sunk her head upon her shoulder, and sobbed herself into quietness, or into exhaustion. The glow of the fire-light faded away till only a faint sparkle was left in the chimney.

There was not another word spoken, but when they rose up, with such kisses as gave and took unuttered affection, counsel, and sympathy, they bade each other good-night.

Fleda went to her window, for the moon rode high, and her childish habit had never been forgotten. But surely the face that looked out that night was as the face of an angel. In all the pouring moonbeams that filled the air, she could see nothing but the flood of God's goodness on a dark world. And her heart that night had nothing but an unbounded and unqualified thanksgiving for all the "gentle discipline" they had felt for every sorrow, and weariness, and disappointment; except, besides, the prayer, almost too deep to be put into words, that its due and hoped-for fruit might be brought forth unto perfection.



CHAPTER XXVII.

"If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up." SHAKESPEARE.

Every day could not be as bright as the last, even by the help of pitch pine knots. They blazed, indeed, many a time, but the blaze shone upon faces that it could not sometimes light up. Matters drew gradually within a smaller and smaller compass. Another five dollars came from uncle Orrin, and the hope of more; but these were carefully laid by to pay Philetus; and for all other wants of the household excepting those the farm supplied, the family were dependent on mere driblets of sums. None came from Mr. Rossitur. Hugh managed to collect a very little. That kept them from absolute distress that, and Fleda's delicate instrumentality. Regular dinners were given up, fresh meat being now unheard of, unless when a kind neighbour made them a present; and appetite would have lagged sadly but for Fleda's untiring care. She thought no time nor pains ill bestowed which could prevent her aunt and Hugh from feeling the want of old comforts; and her nicest skill was displayed in varying the combinations of their very few and simple stores. The diversity and deliciousness of her bread- stuffs, Barby said, was "beyond everything!" and a cup of rich coffee was found to cover all deficiencies of removes and entremets; and this was always served, Barby said further, as if the President of the United States was expected. Fleda never permitted the least slackness in the manner of doing this or anything else that she could control.

Mr. Plumfield had sent down an opportune present of a fine porker. One cold day in the beginning of February, Fleda was busy in the kitchen, making something. for dinner, and Hugh at another table was vigorously chopping sausage-meat.

"I should like to have some cake again," said Fleda.

"Well, why don't you?" said Hugh, chopping away.

"No eggs, Mr. Rossitur and can't afford 'em at two shillings a dozen. I believe I am getting discontented I have a great desire to do something to distinguish myself I would make a plumpudding if I had raisins, but there is not one in the house."

"You can get 'em up to Mr. Hemps's for six pence a pound," said Barby.

But Fleda shook her head at the sixpence, and went on moulding out her biscuits diligently.

"I wish Philetus would make his appearance with the cows it is a very odd thing they should be gone since yesterday morning, and no news of them."

"I only hope the snow aint so bright it'll blind his eyes," said Barby.

"There he is this minute," said Hugh. "It is impossible to tell from his countenance whether successful or not."

"Well, where are the cows, Mr. Skillcorn?" said Barby, as he came in.

"I have went all over town," said the person addressed, "and they aint no place."

"Have you asked news of them, Philetus?"

"I have asked the hull town, and I have went all over, 'till I was a'most beat out with the cold and I ha'n't seen the first sight of 'em yet!"

Fleda and Hugh exchanged looks, while Barby and Mr. Skillcorn entered into an animated discussion of probabilities and impossibilities.

"If we should be driven from our coffee dinners to tea with no milk in it!" said Hugh, softly, in mock dismay.

"Wouldn't!" said Fled. "We'd beat up an egg and put it in the coffee."

"We couldn't afford it," said Hugh, smiling.

"Could! cheaper than to keep the cows. I'll have some sugar at any rate, I'm determined. Philetus!"

"Marm!"

"I wish, when you have got a good pile of wood chopped, you would make some troughs to put under the maple trees you know how to make them, don't you?"

"I do."

"I wish you would make some you have pine logs out there large enough, haven't you?"

"They hadn't ought to want much of it there's some 'gregious big ones!"

"I don't know how many we shall want, but a hundred or two, at any rate; and the sooner the better. Do you know how much sugar they make from one tree?"

"Waul, I don't," said Mr. Skillcorn, with the air of a person who was at fault on no other point; "the big trees gives more than the little ones "

Fleda's eyes flashed at Hugh, who took to chopping in sheer desperation; and the muscles of both gave them full occupation for five minutes. Philetus stood comfortably warming himself at the fire, looking first at one and then at the other, as if they were a show, and he had paid for it. Barby grew impatient.

"I guess this cold weather makes lazy people of me!' she said, bustling about her fire with an amount of energy that was significant. It seemed to signify nothing to Philetus; he only moved a little out of the way.

"Didenhover's cleared out," he burst forth, at length, abruptly.

"What!" said Fleda and Barby at once, the broom and the biscuits standing still.

"Mr. Didenhover."

"What of him?"

"He has tuk himself off out o' town."

"Where to?"

"I can't tell where teu he aint coming back, tain't likely."

"How do you know?"

" 'Cause he's tuk all his traps and went, and he said farming didn't pay, and he wa'n't a-going to have nothin' more to deu with it; he telled Mis' Simpson so he lived to Mis' Simpson's; and she telled Mr. Ten Eyck."

"Are you sure, Philetus?"

"Sure as 'lection! he telled Mis' Simpson so, and she telled Mr. Ten Eyck; and he's cleared out."

Fleda and Hugh again looked at each other. Mr. Skillcorn having now delivered himself of his news, went out to the woodyard.

"I hope he ha'n't carried off our cows along with him," said Barby, as she, too, went out to some other part of her premises.

"He was to have made us quite a payment on the first of March," said Fleda.

"Yes, and that was to have gone to uncle Orrin," said Hugh.

"We shall not see a cent of it. And we wanted a little of it for ourselves. I have that money from the Excelsior, but I can't touch a penny of it, for it must go to Philetus's wages. What Barby does without hers, I do not know; she has had but one five dollars in six months. Why she stays I cannot imagine; unless it is for pure love."

"As soon as the spring opens, I can go to the mill again," said Hugh, after a little pause. Fleda looked at him sorrowfully, and shook her head as she withdrew her eyes.

"I wish father would give up the farm," Hugh went on, under his breath. "I cannot bear to live upon uncle Orrin so."

Fleda's answer was to clasp her hands. Her only words were, "Don't say anything to aunt Lucy."

"It is of no use to say anything to anybody," said Hugh. "But it weighs me to the ground, Fleda."

"If uncle Rolf doesn't come home by spring I hope, I hope he will! but if he does not, I will take desperate measures. I will try farming myself, Hugh. I have thought of it, and I certainly will. I will get Earl Douglass, or somebody else, to play second fiddle, but I will have but one head on the farm, and I will try what mine is worth."

"You could not do it, Fleda."

"One can do anything! with a strong enough motive."

"I'm afraid you'd soon be tired, Fleda."

"Not if I succeeded not so tired as I am now."

"Poor Fleda! I dare say you are tired!"

"It wasn't that I meant," said Fleda, slightly drawing her breath; "I meant this feeling of everything going wrong, and uncle Orrin, and all."

"But you are weary," said Hugh, affectionately. "I see it in your face."

"Not so much body as mind, after all. Oh, Hugh! this is the worst part of being poor the constant occupation of one's mind on a miserable succession of trifles. I am so weary sometimes! If I only had a nice book to rest myself for a while, and forget all these things, I would give so much for it! "

"Dear Fleda, I wish you had!"

"That was one delight of being in New York; I forgot all about money, from one end of it to the other; I put all that away; and not having to think of meals till I came to eat them. You can't think how tired I get of ringing the changes on pork and flour, and Indian meal, and eggs, and vegetables!"

Fleda looked tired, and pale; and Hugh looked sadly conscious of it.

"Don't tell aunt Lucy I have said all this!" she exclaimed, after a moment, rousing herself; "I don't always feel so; only once in a while I get such a fit. And now, I have just troubled you by speaking of it."

"You don't trouble any one in that way very often, dear Fleda," said Hugh, kissing her.

"I ought not at all you have enough else to think of; but it is a kind of relief sometimes. I like to do these things in general only now and then I get tired, as I was just now, I suppose, and then one sees everything through a different medium."

"I am afraid it would tire you more to have the charge of Earl Douglass and the farm upon your mind; and mother could be no help to you, nor I, if I am at the mill."

"But there's Seth Plumfield. Oh, I've thought of it all. You don't know what I am up to, Mr. Rossitur. You shall see how I will manage unless uncle Rolf comes home, in which case I will very gladly forego all my honours and responsibilities together."