"A good place to rest in," Fidelia Marsh was saying to herself, as she
passed with her friend Nellie Austin under the great elms whose boughs
met over the one long street which makes the larger part of the inland
town of Eastwood. "A good place to rest in," she repeated, when the
chaise drew up before the door of the large house which was her friend's
home.
The house was one of the great square homesteads, built in the early
days of the Commonwealth, and it stood in the morning sunshine just
beyond the flickering shadows of the elm-trees in the street. It stood
at a point where two ways met; and the south door opened on the wide
road that led away to the hilly country beyond, and there were great
elms there, too, to cast their shadows over porch and doorway when the
room grew hot. A wonderful old grape-vine covered the porch, and there
were lilac and locust-trees and rose-bushes by the white fence which
enclosed a smooth green yard on three sides of the house. Beyond was a
garden with fruit-trees and tall hollyhocks and great bunches of phlox,
and a row of bee-hives facing the south; and that was all that Fidelia
saw before she passed into the porch, to meet a kindly welcome.
Only at the last moment had she accepted her friend's oft-repeated
invitation to visit her in her home, and she had accepted for the same
reason which had made her refuse it before. It was for the sake of
Eunice. Fidelia had done well at the seminary during the summer term as
far as study was concerned. She had done "splendidly," her classmates
declared with admiring exaggeration; but all the same, she was beginning
to think she had done foolishly--to say no worse.
She had undertaken too much for her summer's work, and had been allowed
to go on with it as perhaps no other girl there would have been allowed.
Study seemed so easy to her, she was so ready and strong and cheerful,
and altogether so sensible, that she had been left to pursue her own way
with less close oversight as to health and strength than was usual at
the seminary, and she had not proved herself worthy of being trusted in
that direction. She had not needed to relight her lamp when the house
was at last silent, nor to study by moonlight, but she had often stolen
hours from her morning slumbers, and had carried her book to her walks
and into her hours of recreation, and even into the morning and evening
"half-hour" which is supposed by all concerned to be given to higher
things.
Of course she had overdone it, and had failed at last. Or she thought
she had failed, because she had at last done wearily and with an effort
what she might have done easily and with secret triumph if she had been
strong and well, "with all her wits about her." She had not failed in
the opinion of her classmates, or even of her teachers. She had at
examinations done as well as the rest--better than most; but she had
taken little pleasure in her success, and she was afraid of what Eunice
might think of it all.
For of course Eunice must hear all there was to tell. She could keep
nothing back from Eunice, even if she would; and in her heart she knew
that her sister's thought would be, that she had missed more than she
had gained by her over-eagerness to succeed. And, looking at her pale
cheeks and her big eyes in the glass, she determined at least to spare
her sister the pain of seeing her till she had rested awhile, and looked
like herself again. So she had at the last moment written to Eunice,
and had made Nellie Austin happy by coming home with her.
She was heartily welcomed by all in the house, and not as a stranger.
For Dr Austin had known her father and mother long ago, and Dr Everett
was also a friend of his.
It was a good house in which to rest--cool and quiet and well-regulated,
stirred only by the mild excitement which the comings and goings of
Nellie's three young brothers made.
But though Fidelia rested she was hardly content. She was not at peace
with herself nor at ease in her pleasant surroundings. Nellie had many
friends to see after her long absence, and went here and there as happy
as a bird, but, cautioned by her father, she did not urge her friend to
go with her, and for the first few days left her much to herself. Dr
Austin watched Fidelia quietly during this time, wondering a little
where the charm was which had caught the heart of his volatile little
daughter. This pale listless girl was little like the bright scholar
who had carried all before her in her classes, and whose kindness and
cheerfulness had been a help and refuge for the homesick and the easily
discouraged among them. But he waited patiently. She had been doing
too much, and needed rest and quiet and fresh air. If her lassitude
continued many days longer, then, he told his wife, he would have
something to say to her.
In the meantime Fidelia, half conscious of their observation of her and
of their disappointment in her, was much ashamed of herself and anything
but happy, and wished with all her heart that she had gone straight home
to Eunice.
"At home, with something to do, I should never have been so stupid.
To-morrow I will find some work. It is because, for the first time in
my life, I have nothing to do that I feel so good-for-nothing."
"Suppose you go a-fishing with the boys to-morrow. They will like to
have you go, and it will do you good," said a cheerful voice behind her,
when she had got thus far.
Fidelia rose from the doorstep, and faced the speaker. It was cousin
Abby Chase, who had come into the porch, and seated herself in a low
chair with a bowl of raisins in her hand.
"I was just wishing for something to do; let me help you," said Fidelia.
"Well, if you would like to, I shall be glad of your help."
She took off her own spotless apron and gave it to Fidelia, and soon
returned with another. Cousin Abby was a distant relation of the Austin
family, who had come to live in the house in the young days of the
doctor's mother, first as help and then as housekeeper, and always as
valued friend. She was an old woman now, and blest with a wisdom which
does not always come with years. She was willing to place herself
aside, and to acknowledge that the work which she had done so long could
be done better by others now.
If it had cost her anything to give up the work and the responsibilities
which had filled her life for so many years, no one knew it from any
word of hers. She was sweet-tempered and intelligent. She had always
"loved good reading," as she said, and within certain limits she was
well read. In the course of many Sunday afternoons she had read--a
chapter or two at a time--the books of such of the grand old Puritans as
found a place in the doctor's library. The "Missionary Herald" and "The
Puritan" were always sent first to cousin Abby's room, and there were
few of the questions, sectional or doctrinal, discussed in the one, and
few of the missionaries or mission-fields presented in the other, during
the last twenty years, with which she was not familiar. In the
labourers in more than one mission-field she took personal interest, and
gave good help to them in many ways. Her Christian influence was felt
in the family, and extended beyond it. There was no one in the town of
Eastwood who held a higher place in the general esteem or who deserved
it more than did cousin Abby Chase.
"We are expecting company," said cousin Abby; "and Mattie had a bigger
wash than ordinary, and so I thought I'd better set to and make some
cake and things to-day, to help along."
"Company?" said Fidelia, her face betraying her doubt as to the pleasure
of the prospect.
"Yes. We generally do have considerable company, summers, though we
have been alone for a spell lately. We don't trouble about company
much. They take us as they find us mostly; but just to-day they are
Boston folks that are coming, and I wish we had known it sooner. Mrs
Austin had a little rather be prepared for such folks."
"You must let me help you," said Fidelia. "I don't know much about such
things--except just plain cooking; but I can do as you tell me."
And so she did, to good purpose.
"You take hold as if you knew how," said Miss Abby admiringly.
They had a long busy morning together in the front kitchen, and amidst
the beating of eggs and the rolling of paste much pleasant talk went on
between them. It was almost as good for Fidelia as a talk with Eunice
would have been. When, later, Dr Austin passed through the room, he
stopped a moment to shake his head at the array of good things which
greeted both nose and eyes.
"They look good, don't they?" said Fidelia.
"Y-es," said the doctor, with a shrug. "The question is, are they
wholesome?"
"Oh, yes; they are the best of their kind! If they are used in
moderation, they won't hurt anybody," said cousin Abby. "Miss Fidelia
must be a good scholar if she studies as well as she works."
"Do you?" said the doctor. "Well, never mind. The work has done you
good; and I hope Abby will take you in hand and find you more to do
another day."
The work had really done Fidelia good. She folded her apron, and turned
to her favourite seat in the south porch with a lighter heart than she
had had for a long time. But her spirits fell again as she reached the
door.
"The company" had arrived--"and a great deal of it," Fidelia thought, at
the first glimpse of the flowing garments of a group of ladies who had
just alighted from a carriage, and were lingering on the lawn. She
glanced down at her faded alpaca, which had been her second-best dress
during the whole of the school year, and wished herself at home.
She was hot and tired after her work; and when she heard Nellie Austin's
voice calling her name, she made haste to get upstairs before she should
be seen. But she could not resist the temptation to turn into cousin
Abby's room, from the window of which she could get another glimpse of
the strangers.
They were not all strangers. By the side of one of the ladies, carrying
her parasol and shawl, walked Dr Justin Everett. But it was a
different Dr Justin from him who had sat constrained and silent at his
brother's table that first night, and who had responded so gravely the
next day to Deacon Ainsworth's untimely congratulations and questions.
His high head was bowed as he listened, and he responded with smiles to
his companion.
Then Nellie's voice was heard again, calling,--"Faithful, my Faithful,
where are you?" and what Fidelia would have liked to do would have been
to hide in cousin Abby's closet, or to run down the back stairs and take
refuge in the kitchen again. She did not do either. She laid herself
down on cousin Abby's sofa, and shaded her face with a big feather fan
that lay at hand. Nellie entered the room on tiptoe.
"Are you asleep, Fie? Are you sick?" said she softly.
"I am neither the one nor the other, though I might have dropped off in
a minute or two if you had not come in to disturb me. Have you been in
the front kitchen? Have you seen the nice things that cousin Abby and I
have been making? I am a little hot and tired, that's all."
"Tired! I should think so! I am ashamed that I was not here to help
you. You ought to rest; but it is nearly dinner-time. And, oh,
Fidelia, I wish you would put on your white dress!"
"My white dress, indeed! That would be striking twelve o'clock too
early in the day, my dear. I must save my white gown for Sunday. Yes,
I know you want to show your friend at her best. It's very good of you.
But I shall do you more credit in my every-day wear. And, after all,
don't you think my gown looks as well as yours?"
"But they have seen me before; and, besides, I'm nobody."
Fidelia laughed.
"Well, I don't feel as if I was anybody in particular. No, dear, I'm
not cross. I am going to be as entertaining as possible, and do you
credit. And, besides, there's the dinner-bell. It is too late now to
think of changing anything."
A pleasant surprise awaited her, and she found it easy not to be cross.
Not only Dr Justin was there, but Dr Everett himself, returning home
with his brother from the first brief holiday they had enjoyed together
for many a year. She came into the dining-room with him, and sat beside
him, and feared no stranger of them all.
"Tell me about my Eunice," she said softly, as the talk flowed on around
them.
"Eunice is all right. I am not sure that I shall be justified in saying
the same to her about you. Are you well, child?"
"As well as well can be. Yes, I got thin and pale; but so did a good
many others. It is a way they have over there, towards the end of the
year. I came here to freshen myself up a little before showing myself
to Eunice. When are you going home, Dr Everett?"
"I am going to-morrow. No, you cannot go with me. I am going round by
W--, and shall not see home for two days yet."
"Oh, dear, I am sorry--that I can't go with you, I mean! It would be a
good excuse to get away--to go with you. I promised to stay ten days,
but I am getting homesick."
"You had better keep your promise. Your sister has company just now,
and does not need you."
"Yes, I know; but that is one reason why I should be at home. Eunice
must have too much to do."
"No, she has not. It is Ruby Stone who is doing now. Don't worry about
Eunice. She is in good hands. Mrs Stone loved your sister before you
were born; Eunice is all right."
There was nothing more to be said, but Fidelia was by no means sure that
she would not shorten her visit; and her next thought was that she need
not see much of the visitors while she stayed. But she did see a good
deal of them.
That night it rained. There could be no wandering under the elms by
moonlight. It grew dark early, and chilly, and a fire of dry wood was
made in the sitting-room, partly for the warmth and partly for
brightness. The elder people gathered round it, and a great deal of
pleasant talk went on among them.
The visitors--besides the two doctors--were Mr and Mrs Abner Kent,
their daughter Ella, and their niece Miss Avery. They were from Boston,
and belonged to one of the "first families" of that chief city. They
were rich--so rich that, like the king and preacher, they might have
possessed themselves of "whatsoever their eyes desired." They had done
something in that direction, their neighbours were inclined to think,
for they had travelled much on both sides of the sea, and had brought
home many of the rare and beautiful things which only much money can
buy. Miss Kent was tall and dark, with a good face; Miss Avery was
beautiful--small and fair, with shining curls, and pretty, coaxing ways;
but Fidelia liked Miss Kent's face best.
By-and-by several friends of the Austins came--the Rev Mr Porson and
his daughters, whom Fidelia had seen before, and others whom she had not
seen. From the corner where she sat in the shadow she watched them all
with great interest. She was listening to the talk that was going on
between Dr Everett and the minister, but she lost nothing of all that
was passing before her eyes, and all the time she was having her own
thoughts about these people.
They were not just like Halsey folks, among whom she and Eunice had
passed all their lives. It had been said of the town of Halsey that
there were more good people in it, in proportion to its population, than
in any other town in the county--perhaps even in the state; and Fidelia
was of course bound to believe it. But though the Halsey people might
be very good, they lacked something, Fidelia acknowledged, which these
people had.
She thought of her friends at home, and tried to imagine one and another
of them--Deacon Ainsworth and his wife, and Miss Green and her uncle the
squire, sitting in the midst of these people. Eunice, with her plain
dress and her plain ways, would have small chance of being understood or
appreciated among them.
But Fidelia pulled herself up mentally when she had got thus far.
Eunice, indeed! In all that was worth knowing or being, which of these
ladies could compare with Eunice?
And yet it must make a difference to live such a life as most of these
people lived--a life without hard work or pressing care, with time to
enjoy reading, and study, and travel, with a chance to enjoy the sight
of all that is grand and beautiful in nature and art. Even Eunice,
good, and sweet, and superior to most people as she was--even Eunice
would have been a little different in such a life.
Standing at the other end of the living room, smiling down upon Miss
Avery, who had touched his arm to attract his attention, stood Dr
Justin Everett. Miss Avery had a request to make, it seemed, and when
he shook his head, seeming to refuse it, she clasped her pretty hands,
and urged it eagerly. Whether her request was ultimately to be granted
or not, did not appear. In the meantime they seated themselves in the
window-seat, a little withdrawn from the rest, evidently content.
Fidelia could not withdraw her attention from them. She watched them
with a feeling in which was both anger and pain rising in her heart.
"Eunice," she thought--"would Eunice care?" and she hated herself for
thinking it, and put up her hands to hide the angry colour that she felt
rising to her cheeks.
"Miss Faithful," said a voice near her, "cousin Abby says you want to go
fishing with us to-morrow. Do you?"
"Yes, indeed I do," said Fidelia, rising and turning to the boy who had
spoken.
"You have got a new name, my dear," said Dr Everett, who had been
watching her face unseen--"a new name and a good one."
Fidelia nodded.
"Amos wants to see you, if you do," said the boy. "He is in cousin
Abby's room. Can you catch fish?"
"I have done so, but I cannot boast of much skill," said Fidelia. "I
would like to try. Let us go and see Amos."
So they went together to cousin Abby's room. It did not take long to
make all necessary arrangements. The chief thing was, that an early
start should be made, and also that a good lunch should be put up.
Fidelia laughed at the idea of her being too tired to follow the brook--
to its source even, if that should be necessary; and she quite won the
hearts of the three boys by her delight at the prospect of the day's
pleasure.
"Nellie ought to go," said Amos. "She would like to go, I'm sure, but
she can't leave her company. They might go too, I suppose; but I guess
city girls wouldn't care about fishing."
"I think it will be better for us to go by ourselves to-morrow," said
Fidelia. "It doesn't do for too many people to go fishing together."
"And girls especially. They will talk," said Amos.