To them life was a simple art
Of duties to be done,
A game where each man took his part,
A race where all must run;
A battle whose great scheme and scope
They little cared to know,
Content, as men-at-arms, to cope
Each with his fronting foe.
MILNES.
On so great and uncommon an occasion as Mr. Ringgan's giving a
dinner-party, the disused front parlour was opened and set in
order; the women-folks, as he called them, wanting the whole
back part of the house for their operations. So when the
visitors arrived, in good time, they were ushered into a large
square, bare-looking room a strong contrast even to their
dining-room at the Pool which gave them nothing of the
welcome of the pleasant farm-house kitchen, and where nothing
of the comfort of the kitchen found its way but a very strong
smell of roast pig. There was the cheerless air of a place
where nobody lives, or thinks of living. The very chairs
looked as if they had made up their minds to be forsaken for a
term of months; it was impossible to imagine that a cheerful
supper had ever been laid upon the stiff, cold-looking table,
that stood with its leaves down so primly against the wall.
All that a blazing fire could do to make amends for
deficiencies, it did; but the wintry wind that swept round the
house shook the paper window-shades in a remorseless way; and
the utmost efforts of said fire could not prevent it from
coming in, and giving disagreeable, impertinent whispers at
the ears of everybody.
Mr. Ringgan's welcome, however, was, and would have been the
same thing anywhere genial, frank, and dignified; neither he
nor it could be changed by circumstances. Mr. Carleton admired
anew, as he came forward, the fine presence and noble look of
his old host; a look that it was plain had never needed to
seek the ground; a brow that in large or small things had
never been crossed by a shadow of shame. And to a discerning
eye the face was not a surer index of a lofty than of a
peaceful and pure mind; too peace-loving and pure, perhaps,
for the best good of his affairs in the conflict with a
selfish and unscrupulous world. At least, now, in the time of
his old age and infirmity; in former days, his straightforward
wisdom, backed by an indomitable courage and strength, had
made Mr. Ringgan no safe subject for either braving or over-
reaching.
Fleda's keen-sighted affection was heartily gratified by the
manner in which her grandfather was greeted by at least one of
his guests, and that the one about whose opinion she cared the
most. Mr. Carleton seemed as little sensible of the cold room
as Mr. Ringgan himself. Fleda felt sure that her grandfather
was appreciated; and she would have sat delightedly listening
to what the one and the other were presently saying, if she
had not taken notice that her cousin looked _astray_. He was
eyeing the fire with a profound air, and she fancied he
thought it poor amusement. Little as Fleda in secret really
cared about that, with an instant sacrifice of her own
pleasure, she quietly changed her position for one from which
she could more readily bring to bear upon Mr. Rossitur's
distraction the very light artillery of her conversation; and
attacked him on the subject of the game he had brought home.
Her motive and her manner both must have been lost upon the
young gentleman. He forthwith set about amusing himself in a
way his little entertainer had not counted upon, namely, with
giving a chase to her wits; partly to pass away the time, and
partly to gratify his curiosity, as he said, "to see what
Fleda was made of." By a curious system of involved,
startling, or absurd questions, he endeavoured to puzzle, or
confound, or entrap her. Fleda, however, steadily presented a
grave front to the enemy, and would every now and then
surprise him with an unexpected turn or clever doubling, and
sometimes when he thought he had her in a corner, jump over
the fence and laugh at him from the other side. Mr. Rossitur's
respect for his little adversary gradually increased, and
finding that she had rather the best of the game, he at last
gave it up, just as Mr. Ringgan was asking Mr. Carleton if he
was a judge of stock? Mr. Carleton saying with a smile, "No,
but he hoped Mr. Ringgan would give him his first lesson,"
the old gentleman immediately arose with that alacrity of
manner he always wore when he had a visitor that pleased him,
and taking his hat and cane led the way out; choosing, with a
man's true carelessness of housewifery etiquette, the kitchen
route, of all others. Not even admonished by the sight of the
bright Dutch oven before the fire, that he was introducing his
visitors somewhat too early to the pig, he led the whole party
through, Cynthia scuttling away in haste across the kitchen
with something that must not be seen, while aunt Miriam looked
out at the company through the crack of the pantry door, at
which Fleda ventured a sly glance of intelligence.
It was a fine though a windy and cold afternoon; the lights
and shadows were driving across the broad upland and meadows.
"This is a fine arable country," remarked Mr. Carleton.
"Capital, Sir, capital, for many miles round, if we were not
so far from a market. I was one of the first that broke ground
in this township, one of the very first settlers I've seen
the rough and the smooth of it, and I never had but one mind
about it from the first. All this as far as you can see I
cleared myself; most of it with my own hand."
"That recollection must attach you strongly to the place, I
should think, Sir."
"Hum, perhaps I cared too much for it," he replied, "for it is
taken away from me. Well, it don't matter now."
"It is not yours?"
"No, Sir! it was mine a great many years; but I was obliged to
part with it, two years ago, to a scoundrel of a fellow
McGowan, up here he got an advantage over me. I can't take
care of myself any more as I used to do, and I don't find that
other people deal by me just as I could wish "
He was silent for a moment and then went on
"Yes, Sir! when I first set myself down here, or a little
further that way, my first house was, a pretty rough house,
too, there wa'n't two settlers beside within something like
ten miles round. I've seen the whole of it cleared, from the
cutting of the first forest trees till this day."
"You have seen the nation itself spring up within that time,"
remarked his guest.
"Not exactly that question of our nationality was settled a
little before I came here. I was born rather too late to see
the whole of that play I saw the best of it, though boys
were men in those days. My father was in the thick of it from
beginning to end."
"In the army, was he?"
"Ho, yes, Sir! he and every child he had that wasn't a girl
there wasn't a man of the name that wa'n't on the right side.
I was in the army myself when I was fifteen. I was nothing but
a fifer but I tell you, Sir! there wasn't a general officer
in the country that played his part with a prouder heart than
I did mine!"
"And was that the general spirit of the ranks?"
"Not altogether," replied the old gentleman, passing his hand
several times abstractedly over his white hair, a favourite
gesture with him, "not exactly that there was a good deal
of mixture of different materials, especially in this state;
and where the feeling wasn't pretty strong, it was no wonder
if it got tired out; but the real stuff, the true Yankee
blood, was pretty firm! Ay, and some of the rest! There was a
good deal to try men in those days. Sir, I have seen many a
time when I had nothing to dine upon but my fife, and it was
more than that could do to keep me from feeling very empty!"
"But was this a common case? did this happen often?" said Mr.
Carleton.
"Pretty often pretty often, sometimes," answered the old
gentleman. "Things were very much out of order, you see, and
in some parts of the country it was almost impossible to get
the supplies the men needed. Nothing would have kept them
together, nothing under heaven but the love and confidence
they had in one name. Their love of right and independence
wouldn't have been strong enough, and besides a good many of
them got disheartened. A hungry stomach is a pretty stout
arguer against abstract questions. I have seen my father
crying like a child for the wants and sufferings he was
obliged to see, and couldn't relieve."
"And then you used to relieve yourselves, grandpa," said
Fleda.
"How was that, Fairy?"
Fleda looked at her grandfather, who gave a little preparatory
laugh, and passed his hand over his head again.
"Why, yes," said he, "we used to think the tories, King
George's men, you know, were fair game; and when we happened
to be in the neighbourhood of some of them that we knew were
giving all the help they could to the enemy, we used to let
them cook our dinners for us once in a while."
"How did you manage that, Sir?"
"Why, they used to have little bake-ovens to cook their meats
and so on, standing some way out from the house, did you
never see one of them? raised on four little heaps of stone;
the bottom of the oven is one large flat stone, and the arch
built over it; they look like a great beehive. Well we
used to watch till we saw the good woman of the house get her
oven cleverly heated, and put in her batch of bread, or her
meat-pie, or her pumpkin and apple pies! whichever it was
there didn't any of 'em come much amiss and when we guessed
they were pretty nigh done, three or four of us would creep in
and whip off the whole oven and all! to a safe place. I
tell you," said he, with a knowing nod of his head at the
laughing Fleda, "those were first-rate pies!"
"And then did you put the oven back again afterwards,
grandpa?"
"I guess not often, dear!" replied the old gentleman.
"What do you think of such lawless proceedings, Miss Fleda?"
said Mr. Carleton, laughing at or with her.
"O, I like it," said Fleda. "You liked those pies all the
better, didn't you, grandpa, because you had got them from the
tories?"
"That we did! If we hadn't got them, maybe King George's men
would, in some shape. But we weren't always so lucky as to get
hold of an oven full. I remember one time several of us had
been out on a foraging expedition there, Sir, what do you
think of that for a two-and-a-half year old?"
They had come up with the chief favourite of his barnyard, a
fine deep-coloured Devon bull.
"I don't know what one might see in Devonshire," he remarked,
presently, "but I know _this_ county can't show the like of
him?"
A discussion followed of the various beauties and excellencies
of the animal; a discussion in which Mr. Carleton certainly
took little part, while Mr. Ringgan descanted enthusiastically
upon "hide" and "brisket" and "bone," and Rossitur stood in an
abstraction it might be scornful, it might be mazed. Little
Fleda quietly listening and looking at the beautiful creature,
which from being such a treasure to her grandfather was in a
sort one to her, more than half understood them all; but Mr.
Ringgan was too well satisfied with the attention of one of
his guests to miss that of the other.
"That fellow don't look as if _he_ had ever known short
commons," was Rossitur's single remark as they turned away.
"You did not give us the result of your foraging expedition,
Sir," said Mr. Carleton, in a different manner.
"Do, grandpa," said Fleda, softly.
"Ha! Oh, it is not worth telling," said the old gentleman,
looking gratified; "Fleda has heard my stories till she
knows them by heart she could tell it as well herself. What
was it? about the pig? We had been out, several of us, one
afternoon, to try to get up a supper or a dinner, for we had
had none and we had caught a pig. It happened that I was the
only one of the party that had a cloak, and so the pig was
given to me to carry home, because I could hide it the best.
Well, Sir! we were coming home, and had set our mouths for a
prime supper, when just as we were within a few rods of our
shanty, who should come along but our captain! My heart sank
as it never has done at the thought of a supper before or
since, I believe! I held my cloak together as well as I could,
and kept myself back a little, so that if the pig showed a
cloven foot behind me, the captain might not see it. But I
almost gave up all for lost when I saw the captain going into
the hut with us. There was a kind of a rude bedstead standing
there; and I set myself down upon the side of it, and gently
worked and eased my pig off under my cloak till I got him to
roll down behind the bed. I knew," said Mr. Ringgan, laughing,
"I knew by the captain's eye, as well as I knew anything, that
he smelt a rat; but he kept our counsel, as well as his own;
and when he was gone we took the pig out into the woods behind
the shanty and roasted him finely, and we sent and asked Capt.
Sears to supper; and he came and helped us eat the pig with a
great deal of appetite, and never asked no questions how we
came by him!"
"I wonder your stout-heartedness did not fail, in the course
of so long a time," said Mr. Carleton
"Never, Sir!'" said the old gentleman. "I never doubted for a
moment what the end would be. My father never doubted for a
moment. We trusted in God and in Washington!"
"Did you see actual service yourself?"
"No, Sir I never did. I wish I had. I should like to have
had the honour of striking one blow at the rascals. However,
they were hit pretty well. I ought to be contented. My father
saw enough of fighting he was colonel of a regiment he was
at the affair of Burgoyne. _That_ gave us a lift in good time.
What rejoicing there was everywhere when that news came! I
could have fifed all day upon an empty stomach and felt
satisfied. People reckoned everywhere that the matter was
settled when that great piece of good fortune was given us.
And so it was! wa'n't it, dear?" said the old gentleman,
with one of those fond, pleased, sympathetic looks to Fleda
with which he often brought up what he was saying.
"General Gates commanded there?" said Mr. Carleton.
"Yes, Sir. Gates was a poor stick I never thought much of
him. That fellow Arnold distinguished himself in the actions
before Burgoyne's surrender. He fought like a brave man. It
seems strange that so mean a scamp should have had so much
blood in him!"
"Why; are great fighters generally good men, grandpa?" said
Fleda.
Not exactly, dear!" replied her grandfather; "but such
little-minded rascality is not just the vice one would expect
to find in a gallant soldier."
"Those were times that made men," said Mr. Carleton, musingly.
"Yes," answered the old gentleman, gravely, "they were times
that called for men, and God raised them up. But Washington
was the soul of the country, Sir!"
"Well, the time made him," said Mr. Carleton.
"I beg your pardon," said the old gentleman, with a very
decided little turn of his head. "I think he made the time.
I don't know what it would have been, Sir, or what it would
have come to, but for him. After all, it is rather that the
things which try people show what is in them; I hope there
are men enough in the country yet, though they haven't as good
a chance to show what they are."
"Either way," said his guest, smiling, "it is a happiness, Mr.
Ringgan, to have lived at a time when there was something
worth living for."
"Well I don't know " said the old gentleman; "those times
would make the prettiest figure in a story or a romance, I
suppose; but I've tried both, and on the whole," said he, with
another of his looks at Fleda, "I think I like these times the
best!"
Fleda smiled her acquiescence. His guest could not help
thinking to himself that however pacific might be Mr.
Ringgan's temper, no man in those days that tried men could
have brought to the issue more stern inflexibility and gallant
fortitude of bearing. His frame bore evidence of great
personal strength, and his eye, with all its mildness, had an
unflinching dignity that _could_ never have quailed before duty
or danger. And now, while he was recalling with great
animation and pleasure the scenes of his more active life, and
his blue eye was shining with the fire of other days, his
manner had the self-possession and quiet sedateness of triumph
that bespeak a man always more ready to do than to say.
Perhaps the contemplation of the noble Roman-like old figure
before him did not tend to lessen the feeling, even the sigh,
of regret with which the young man said,
"There was something then for a man to do!"
"There is always that," said the old gentleman, quietly. "God
has given every man his work to do; and 'tain't difficult for
him to find out what. No man is put here to be idle."
"But," said his companion, with a look in which not a little
haughty reserve was mingled with a desire to speak out his
thoughts, "half the world are busy about humdrum concerns, and
the other half doing nothing, or worse."
"I don't know about that," said Mr. Ringgan; "that depends
upon the way you take things. 'Tain't always the men that make
the most noise that are the most good in the world. Humdrum
affairs needn't be humdrum in the doing of 'em. It is my
maxim," said the old gentleman, looking at his companion with
a singularly open, pleasant smile, "that a man may be great
about a'most anything chopping wood, if he happens to be in
that line. I used to go upon that plan, Sir. Whatever I have
set my hand to do, I have done it as well as I knew how to;
and if you follow that rule out you'll not be idle nor humdrum
neither. Many's the time that I have mowed what would be a
day's work for another man, before breakfast."
Rossitur's smile was not meant to be seen. But Mr. Carleton's,
to the credit of his politeness and his understanding both,
was frank as the old gentleman's own, as he answered, with a
good-humoured shake of his head,
"I can readily believe it, Sir; and honour both your maxim and
your practice. But I am not exactly in that line."
"Why don't you try the army?" said Mr. Ringgan, with a look of
interest.
"There is not a cause worth fighting for," said the young man,
his brow changing again. "It is only to add weight to the
oppressor's hand, or throw away life in the vain endeavour to
avert it. I will do neither."
"But all the world is open before such a young man as you,"
said Mr. Ringgan.
"A large world," said Mr. Carleton, with his former mixture of
expression, "but there isn't much in it."
"Politics?" said Mr. Ringgan.
"It is to lose oneself in a seething-pot, where the scum is
the most apparent thing."
"But there is society?" said Rossitur.
"Nothing better or more noble than the succession of motes
that flit through a sunbeam into oblivion."
"Well, why not, then, sit down quietly on one's estates and
enjoy them, one who has enough?"
"And be a worm in the heart of an apple."
"Well, then," said Rossitur, laughing, though not knowing
exactly how far he might venture, "there is nothing left for
you, as I don't suppose you would take to any of the learned
professions, but to strike out some new path for yourself
hit upon some grand invention for benefiting the human race
and distinguishing your own name at once."
But while he spoke, his companion's face had gone back to its
usual look of imperturbable coolness; the dark eye was even
haughtily unmoved, till it met Fleda's inquiring and somewhat
anxious glance. He smiled.
"The nearest approach I ever made to that," said he, "was when
I went chestnuting the other day. Can't you find some more
work for me, Fairy?"
Taking Fleda's hand with his wonted graceful lightness of
manner, he walked on with her, leaving the other two to follow
together.
"You would like to know, perhaps, "observed Mr. Rossitur, in
rather a low tone, "that Mr. Carleton is an Englishman."
"Ay, ay?" said Mr. Ringgan. "An Englishman, is he? Well, Sir,
what is it that I would like to know?"
"_That_," said Rossitur. "I would have told you before if I
could. I supposed you might not choose to speak quite so
freely, perhaps, on American affairs before him."
"I haven't two ways of speaking, Sir, on anything," said the
old gentleman, a little dryly. "Is your friend very tender on
that chapter?"
"O, not that I know of at all," said Rossitur; "but you know
there is a great deal of feeling still among the English about
it they have never forgiven us heartily for whipping them;
and I know Carleton is related to the nobility, and all that,
you know; so I thought "
"Ah, well!" said the old gentleman "we don't know much about
nobility and such gimcracks in this country. I'm not much of a
courtier. I am pretty much accustomed to speak my mind as I
think it. He's wealthy, I suppose?"
"He's more than that, Sir. Enormous estates! He's the finest
fellow in the world one of the first young men in England."
"You have been there yourself, and know?" said Mr. Ringgan,
glancing at his companion.
"If I have not, Sir, others have told me that do."
"Ah, well," said Mr. Ringgan, placidly; "we sha'n't quarrel, I
guess. What did he come out here for eh?"
"Only to amuse himself. They are going back again in a few
weeks, and I intend accompanying them to join my mother in
Paris. Will my little cousin be of the party?"
They were sauntering along towards the house. A loud calling
of her name the minute before, had summoned Fleda thither at
the top of her speed; and Mr. Carleton turned to repeat the
same question.
The old gentleman stopped, and striking his stick two or three
times against the ground, looked sorrowfully undetermined.
"Well, I don't know!" he said, at last "It's a pretty hard
matter she'd break her heart about it, I suppose "
"I dare urge nothing, Sir," said Mr. Carleton. "I will only
assure you that if you entrust your treasure to us, she shall
be cherished as you would wish, till we place her in the hands
of her aunt."
"I know that, Sir, I do not doubt it," said Mr. Ringgan;
"but, I'll tell you by and by what I conclude upon," he said,
with evident relief of manner, as Fleda came bounding back to
them. "Mr. Rossitur, have you made your peace with Fleda?"
"I was not aware that I had any to make, Sir," replied the
young gentleman. "I will do it with pleasure, if my little
cousin will tell me how. But she looks as if she needed
enlightening as much as myself."
"She has something against you, I can tell you," said the old
gentleman, looking amused, and speaking as if Fleda were a
curious little piece of human mechanism which could hear its
performances talked of with all the insensibility of any other
toy. "She gives it as her judgment that Mr. Carleton is the
most of a gentleman, because he keeps his promise."
"Oh, grandpa!"
Poor Fleda's cheek was hot with a distressful blush. Rossitur
coloured with anger. Mr. Carleton's smile had a very different
expression.
"If Fleda will have the goodness to recollect," said Rossitur,
"I cannot be charged with breaking a promise, for I made
none."
"But Mr. Carleton did," said Fleda.
"She is right, Mr. Rossitur, she is right," said that
gentleman; "a fallacy might as well elude Ithuriel's spear as
the sense of a pure spirit there is no need of written
codes. Make your apologies, man, and confess yourself in the
wrong."
"Pho, pho," said the old gentleman, "she don't take it very
much to heart, I guess _I_ ought to be the one to make the
apologies," he added, looking at Fleda's face.
But Fleda commanded herself, with difficulty, and announced
that dinner was ready.
"Mr. Rossitur tells me, Mr. Carleton, you are an Englishman,"
said his host. "I have some notion of that's passing through
my head before, but somehow I had entirely lost sight of it
when I was speaking so freely to you a little while ago, about
our national quarrel I know some of your countrymen owe us a
grudge yet."
"Not I, I assure you," said the young Englishman. "I am
ashamed of them for it. I congratulate you on being
Washington's countryman, and a sharer in his grand struggle
for the right against the wrong."
Mr. Ringgan shook his guest's hand, looking very much pleased;
and having by this time arrived at the house, the young
gentlemen were formally introduced at once to the kitchen,
their dinner, and aunt Miriam.
It is not too much to say that the entertainment gave perfect
satisfaction to everybody better fate than attends most
entertainments. Even Mr. Rossitur's ruffled spirit felt the
soothing influence of good cheer, to which he happened to be
peculiarly sensible, and came back to its average condition of
amenity.
Doubtless that was a most informal table, spread according to
no rules that, for many generations at least, have been known
in the refined world; an anomaly in the eyes of certainly one
of the company. Yet the board had a character of its own, very
far removed from vulgarity, and suiting remarkably well with
the condition and demeanour of those who presided over it a
comfortable, well-to-do, substantial look, that could afford
to dispense with minor graces; a self-respect that was not
afraid of criticism. Aunt Miriam's successful efforts deserve
to be celebrated.
In the middle of the table, the polished amber of the pig's
arched back elevated itself a striking object but worthy
of the place he filled, as the honours paid him by everybody
abundantly testified. Aunt Miriam had sent down a basket of
her own bread, made out of the new flour, brown and white,
both as sweet and fine as it is possible for bread to be; the
piled-up slices were really beautiful. The superb butter had
come from aunt Miriam's dairy, too, for on such an occasion
she would not trust to the very doubtful excellence of Miss
Cynthia's doings. Every spare place on the table was filled
with dishes of potatoes, and pickles, and sweetmeats, that
left nothing to be desired in their respective kinds; the cake
was a delicious presentment of the finest of material; and the
pies, pumpkin pies, such as only aunt Miriam could make, rich
compounds of everything _but_ pumpkin, with enough of that to
give them a name; Fleda smiled to think how pleased aunt
Miriam must secretly be to see the homage paid her through
them. And most happily Mrs. Plumfield had discovered that the
last tea Mr. Ringgan had brought from the little Queechy store
was not very good, and there was no time to send up on "the
hill" for more, so she made coffee. Verily, it was not Mocha,
but the thick yellow cream with which the cups were filled,
really made up the difference. The most curious palate found
no want.
Everybody was in a high state of satisfaction, even to Miss
Cynthia Gall; who, having some lurking suspicion that Mrs.
Plumfield might design to cut her out of her post of tea-
making, had slipped herself into her usual chair behind the
tea-tray, before anybody else was ready to sit down. No one at
table bestowed a thought upon Miss Cynthia, but as she thought
of nothing else, she may be said to have had her fair share of
attention. The most unqualified satisfaction, however, was no
doubt little Fleda's. Forgetting, with a child's happy
readiness, the fears and doubts which had lately troubled her,
she was full of the present, enjoying, with a most unselfish
enjoyment, everything that pleased anybody else. She was glad
that the supper was a fine one, and so approved, because it
was her grandfather's hospitality, and her aunt Miriam's
housekeeping; little beside was her care for pies or coffee.
She saw with secret glee the expression of both her aunt's and
Mr. Ringgan's face; partly from pure sympathy, and partly
because, as she knew, the cause of it was Mr. Carleton, whom,
privately, Fleda liked very much. And after all, perhaps, he
had directly more to do with her enjoyment than all other
causes together.
Certainly that was true of him with respect to the rest of the
dinner-table. None at that dinner-table had ever seen the
like. With all the graceful charm of manner with which he
would have delighted a courtly circle, he came out from his
reserve and was brilliant, gay, sensible, entertaining, and
witty, to a degree that assuredly has very rarely been thrown
away upon an old farmer in the country and his unpolite
sister. They appreciated him though, as well as any courtly
circle could have done, and he knew it. In aunt Miriam's
strong sensible face, when not full of some hospitable care,
he could see the reflection of every play of his own; the
grave practical eye twinkled and brightened, giving a ready
answer to every turn of sense or humour in what he was saying.
Mr. Ringgan, as much of a child for the moment as Fleda
herself, had lost everything disagreeable, and was in the full
genial enjoyment of talk, rather listening than talking, with
his cheeks in a perpetual dimple of gratification, and a low
laugh of hearty amusement now and then rewarding the
conversational and kind efforts of his guest with a complete
triumph. Even the subtle charm which they could not quite
recognise wrought fascination. Miss Cynthia declared
afterwards, half admiring and half vexed, that he spoiled her
supper, for she forgot to think how it tasted. Rossitur his
good humour was entirely restored; but whether even Mr.
Carleton's power could have achieved that without the perfect
seasoning of the pig and the smooth persuasion of the richly-
creamed coffee, it may perhaps be doubted. He stared,
mentally, for he had never known his friend condescend to
bring himself out in the same manner before; and he wondered
what he could see in the present occasion to make it worth
while.
But Mr. Carleton did not think his efforts thrown away. He
understood and admired his fine old host and hostess; and with
all their ignorance of conventionalities and absence of what
is called _polish_ of manner, he could enjoy the sterling sense,
the good feeling, the true, hearty hospitality, and the
dignified courtesy, which both of them showed. No matter of
the outside; this was in the grain. If mind had lacked much
opportunity, it had also made good use of a little; his host,
Mr. Carleton found, had been a great leader, was well
acquainted with history, and a very intelligent reasoner upon
it; and both he and his sister showed a strong and quick
aptitude for intellectual subjects of conversation. No doubt
aunt Miriam's courtesy had not been taught by a dancing-
master, and her brown satin gown had seen many a fashion come
and go since it was made, but a _lady_ was in both; and while
Rossitur covertly smiled, Mr. Carleton paid his sincere
respect where he felt it was due. Little Fleda's quick eye
hardly saw, but more than half felt, the difference. Mr.
Carleton had no more eager listener now than she, and perhaps
none whose unaffected interest and sympathy gave him more
pleasure.
When they rose from the table Mr. Ringgan would not be
_insinuated_ into the cold front room again.
"No, no," said he, "what's the matter? the table? Push the
table back, and let it take care of itself, come, gentlemen,
sit down draw up your chairs round the fire, and a fig for
ceremony! Comfort, sister Miriam, against politeness, any day
in the year; don't you say so too, Fairy? Come here by me."
"Miss Fleda," said Mr. Carleton, "will you take a ride with me
to Montepoole to-morrow? I should like to make you acquainted
with my mother."
Fleda coloured, and looked at her grandfather.
"What do you say, deary?" he inquired fondly; "will you go?
I believe, Sir, your proposal will prove a very acceptable
one. You will go, wont you, Fleda?"
Fleda would very much rather not! But she was always
exceedingly afraid of hurting people's feelings; she could not
bear that Mr. Carleton should think she disliked to go with
him, so she answered yes, in her usual sober manner.
Just then the door opened, and a man unceremoniously walked
in, his entrance immediately following a little sullen knock
that had made a mockery of asking permission. An ill-looking
man, in the worst sense; his face being a mixture of cunning,
meanness, and insolence. He shut the door, and came with a
slow, leisurely step into the middle of the room, without
speaking a word. Mr. Carleton saw the blank change in Fleda's
face. She knew him.
"Do you wish to see me, Mr. McGowan?" said Mr. Ringgan, not
without something of the same change.
"I guess I ha'n't come here for nothing," was the gruff
retort.
"Wouldn't another time answer as well?"
"I don't mean to find you here another time," said the man,
chuckling; "I have given you notice to quit, and now I have
come to tell you you'll clear out. I ain't a going to be kept
out of my property for ever. If I can't get my money from you,
Elzevir Ringgan, I'll see you don't get no more of it in your
hands."
"Very well, Sir," said the old gentleman. "You have said all
that is necessary."
"You have got to hear a little more, though," returned the
other; "I've an idee that there's a satisfaction in speaking
one's mind. I'll have that much out of you! Mr. Ringgan, a man
hadn't ought to make an agreement to pay what he doesn't _mean_
to pay; and what he has made an agreement to pay, he ought to
meet and be up to, if he sold his soul for it! You call
yourself a Christian, do you, to stay in another man's house,
month after month, when you know you ha'n't got the means to
give him the rent for it! That's what _I_ call stealing; and
it's what I'd live in the County House before I'd demean
myself to do! and so ought you."
"Well, well! neighbour," said Mr. Ringgan, with patient
dignity; "it's no use calling names. You know as well as I do
how all this came about. I hoped to be able to pay you, but I
haven't been able to make it out, without having more time."
"Time!" said the other. "Time to cheat me out of a little more
houseroom. If I was agoing to live on charity, Mr. Ringgan,
I'd come out and say so, and not put my hand in a man's pocket
this way. You'll quit the house by the day after to-morrow, or
if you don't I'll let you hear a little more of me that you
wont like."
He stalked out, shutting the door after him with a bang. Mr.
Carleton had quitted the room a moment before him.
Nobody moved or spoke at first, when the man was gone, except
Miss Cynthia, who, as she was taking something from the table
to the pantry, remarked, probably for Mr. Rossitur's benefit,
that "Mr. Ringgan had to have that man punished for something
he did a few years ago, when he was justice of the peace, and
she guessed likely that was the reason he had a grudge agin
him ever since." Beyond this piece of dubious information
nothing was said. Little Fleda stood beside her grandfather,
with a face of quiet distress; the tears silently running over
her flushed cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon Mr. Ringgan with a
tender, touching look of sympathy, most pure from self-
recollection.
Mr. Carleton presently came in to take leave of the disturbed
family. The old gentleman rose, and returned his shake of the
hand with even a degree more than usual of his manly dignity,
or Mr. Carleton thought so.
"Good day to you, Sir!" he said, heartily. "We have had a
great deal of pleasure in your society, and I shall always be
very happy to see you wherever I am." And then following him
to the door, and wringing his hand with a force he was not at
all aware of, the old gentleman added in a lower tone, "I
shall let her go with you."
Mr. Carleton read his whole story in the stern self-command of
brow, and the slight convulsion of feature, which all the
self-command could not prevent. He returned warmly the grasp
of the hand, answering merely, "I will see you again."
Fleda wound her arms round her grandfather's neck when they
were gone, and did her best to comfort him, assuring him that
"they would be just as happy somewhere else." And aunt Miriam
earnestly proffered her own home. But Fleda knew that her
grandfather was not comforted. He stroked her head, with the
same look of stern gravity and troubled emotion which had
grieved her so much the other day. She could not win him to a
smile, and went to bed at last, feeling desolate. She had no
heart to look out at the night. The wind was sweeping by in
wintry gusts; and Fleda cried herself to sleep, thinking how
it would whistle round the dear old house when their ears
would not be there to hear it.