"Whereunto is money good?
Who has it not wants hardihood.
Who has it has much trouble and care,
Who once has had it has despair."
LONGFELLOW. _From the German_.
It was the middle of winter. One day Hugh and Fleda had come
home from their walk. They dashed into the parlour,
complaining that it was bitterly cold, and began unrobing
before the glowing grate, which was a mass of living fire from
end to end. Mrs. Rossitur was there in an easy chair, alone,
and doing nothing. That was not a thing absolutely unheard of,
but Fleda had not pulled off her second glove before she bent
down towards her, and in a changed tone tenderly asked if she
did not feel well.
Mrs. Rossitur looked up in her face a minute, and then drawing
her down, kissed the blooming cheeks, one and the other,
several times. But as she looked off to the fire again, Fleda
saw that it was through watering eyes. She dropped on her
knees by the side of the easy chair, that she might have a
better sight of that face, and tried to read it as she asked
again what was the matter; and Hugh, coming to the other side,
repeated her question. His mother passed an arm round each,
looking wistfully from one to the other, and kissing them
earnestly, but she said only, with a very heart-felt emphasis,
"Poor children!"
Fleda was now afraid to speak, but Hugh pressed his inquiry.
"Why 'poor', Mamma? what makes you say so?"
"Because you are poor really, dear Hugh. We have lost
everything we have in the world."
"Mamma! What do you mean?"
"Your father has failed."
"Failed! But, Mamma, I thought he wasn't in business?"
"So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur; "I didn't know people
could fail that were not in business; but it seems they can.
He was a partner in some concern or other, and it's all broken
to pieces, and your father with it, he says!"
Mrs. Rossitur's face was distressful. They were all silent for
a little, Hugh kissing his mother's wet cheeks. Fleda had
softly nestled her head in her bosom. But Mrs. Rossitur soon
recovered herself.
"How bad is it, mother?" said Hugh.
"As bad as can possibly be."
"Is everything gone?"
"Everything!"
"You don't mean the house, Mamma?"
"The house, and all that is in it."
The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent again,
only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympathy and
patience, if ever a kiss did.
"But, Mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it,
"do you mean to say that everything, literally everything, is
gone? Is there nothing left?"
"Nothing in the world not a sou."
"Then what are we going to do?"
Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words.
Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her
arms around her aunt's neck, and laying cheek to cheek, she
spoke what comfort she could.
"Don't, dear aunt Lucy! there will be some way things
always turn out better than at first, I dare say we shall find
out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we
wont. We can be happy anywhere together."
If there was not much in the reasoning, there was something in
the tone of the words, to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well.
Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint
of self-recollection; its sorrow was for her. Mrs. Rossitur
felt that she must not show herself overcome. She again kissed
and blessed, and pressed closer in her arms, her little
comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh.
"I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle was here
telling me just now a little while before you came in. Don't
say anything about it before him."
Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably.
"What will be done with the house, Mamma?" said Hugh.
"Sold sold, and everything in it."
"Papa's books, Mamma! and all the things in the library!"
exclaimed Hugh, looking terrified.
Mrs. Rossitur's face gave the answer; do it in words she could
not.
The children were a long time silent, trying hard to swallow
this bitter pill; and still Hugh's hand was in his mother's,
and Fleda's head lay on her bosom. Thought was busy, going up
and down, and breaking the companionship they had so long held
with the pleasant drawing-room, and the tasteful arrangements
among which Fleda was so much at home; the easy chairs in
whose comfortable arms she had had so many an hour of nice
reading; the soft rug, where, in the very wantonness of
frolic, she had stretched herself to play with King; that very
luxurious bright grateful of fire, which had given her so
often the same warm welcome home an apt introduction to the
other stores of comfort which awaited her above and below
stairs; the rich-coloured curtains and carpet, the beauty of
which had been such a constant gratification to Fleda's eye;
and the exquisite French table and lamps they had brought out
with them, in which her uncle and aunt had so much pride, and
which could nowhere be matched for elegance they must all be
said "good-bye" to; and as yet fancy had nothing to furnish
the future with; it looked very bare.
King had come in, and wagged himself up close to his mistress,
but even he could obtain nothing but the touch of most
abstracted finger-ends. Yet, though keenly recognised, these
thoughts were only passing compared with the anxious and
sorrowful ones that went to her aunt and uncle; for Hugh and
her, she judged, it was less matter. And Mrs. Rossitur's care
was most for her husband; and Hugh's was for them all. His
associations were less quick, and his tastes less keen, than
Fleda's, and less a part of himself. Hugh lived in his
affections; with a salvo to them he could bear to lose
anything and go anywhere.
"Mamma," said he, after a long time "will anything be done
with Fleda's books?"
A question that had been in Fleda's mind before, but which she
had patiently forborne just then to ask.
"No, indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, pressing Fleda more closely,
and kissing in a kind of rapture the sweet, thoughtful face
"not yours, my darling; they can't touch anything that belongs
to you I wish it was more and I don't suppose they will
take anything of mine either."
"Ah, well!" said Fleda, raising her head, "you have got quite
a parcel of books, aunt Lucy, and I have a good many how
well it is I have had so many given me since I have been here!
That will make quite a nice little library, both together, and
Hugh has some; I thought perhaps we shouldn't have one at all
left, and that would have been rather bad."
"Rather bad!" Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and was dumb.
"Only don't you wear a sad face for anything!" Fleda went on
earnestly; "we shall be perfectly happy if you and uncle Rolf
only will be."
"My dear children!" said Mrs. Rossitur, wiping her eyes, "it
is for you I am unhappy you and your uncle; I do not think
of myself."
"And we do not think of ourselves, Mamma," said Hugh.
"I know it; but having good children don't make one care less
about them," said Mrs. Rossitur, the tears fairly raining over
her fingers.
Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the efficacy of
his lips.
"And you know Papa thinks most of you, Mamma."
"Ah, your father!" said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head; "I am
afraid it will go hard with him! But I will be happy as long
as I have you two, or else I should be a very wicked woman. It
only grieves me to think of your education and prospects"
"Fleda's piano, Mamma!" said Hugh, with sudden dismay.
Mrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, while
Fleda stretching across to Hugh, gave him, by look and touch,
an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. And then,
with a sweetness and gentleness like nothing but the breath of
the south wind, she wooed her aunt to hope and resignation.
Hugh held back, feeling or thinking that Fleda could do it
better than he, and watching her progress, as Mrs. Rossitur
took her hand from her face and smiled, at first mournfully,
and then really mirthfully, in Fleda's face, at some sally
that nobody but a nice observer would have seen was got up for
the occasion; and it was hardly that, so completely had the
child forgotten her own sorrow in ministering to that of
another. "Blessed are the peacemakers!" It is always so.
"You are a witch or a fairy," said Mrs. Rossitur, catching her
again in her arms "nothing else! You must try your powers of
charming upon your uncle."
Fleda laughed without any effort; but as to trying her slight
wand upon Mr. Rossitur, she had serious doubts. And the doubts
became certainty when they met at dinner; he looked so grave
that she dared not attack him. It was a gloomy meal, for the
face that should have lighted the whole table cast a shadow
there.
Without at all comprehending the whole of her husband's
character, the sure magnetism of affection had enabled Mrs.
Rossitur to divine his thoughts. Pride was his ruling passion;
not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was rather like
exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscriminate in
its choice of objects. It was pride in his family name; pride
in his own talents, which were considerable; pride in his
family, wife, and children, and all of which he thought did
him honour if they had not, his love for them assuredly
would have known some diminishing; pride in his wealth, and in
the attractions with which it surrounded him; and, lastly,
pride in the skill, taste, and connoisseurship which enabled
him to bring those attractions together. Furthermore, his love
for both literature and art was true and strong; and for many
years he had accustomed himself to lead a life of great
luxuriousness, catering for body and mind in every taste that
could be elegantly enjoyed; and again proud of the elegance of
every enjoyment. The change of circumstances which touched his
pride, wounded him at every point where he was vulnerable at
all.
Fleda had never felt so afraid of him. She was glad to see Dr.
Gregory come in to tea. Mr. Rossitur was not there. The Doctor
did not touch upon affairs, if he had heard of their
misfortune; he went on as usual in a rambling cheerful way all
tea-time, talking mostly to Fleda and Hugh. But after tea he
talked no more, but sat still and waited till the master of
the house came in.
Fleda thought Mr. Rossitur did not look glad to see him. But
how could he look glad about anything? He did not sit down,
and for a few minutes there was a kind of meaning silence.
Fleda sat in the corner with the heartache, to see her uncle's
gloomy tramp up and down the rich apartment, and her aunt
Lucy's gaze at him.
"Humph! well! So!" said the Doctor, at last, "You've all
gone overboard with a smash, I understand?"
The walker gave him no regard.
"True, is it?" said the doctor.
Mr. Rossitur made no answer, unless a smothered grunt might be
taken for one.
"How came it about?"
"Folly and devilry."
"Humph! bad capital to work upon. I hope the principal is
gone with the interest. What's the amount of your loss?"
"Ruin."
"Humph! French ruin, or American ruin? because there's a
difference. What do you mean?"
"I am not so happy as to understand you, Sir; but we shall not
pay seventy cents, on the dollar."
The old gentleman got up, and stood before the fire, with his
back to Mr. Rossitur, saying, "That was rather bad."
"What are you going to do?"
Mr. Rossitur hesitated a few moments for an answer, and then
said
"Pay the seventy cents, and begin the world anew with
nothing."
"Of course," said the doctor. "I understand that; but where
and how? What end of the world will you take up first?."
Mr. Rossitur writhed in impatience or disgust, and after again
hesitating, answered drily, that he had not determined.
"Have you thought of anything in particular?"
"Zounds! no, Sir, nothing except my misfortune. That's enough
for one day."
"And too much," said the old doctor, "unless you can mix some
other thought with it. That's what I came for. Will you go
into business?"
Fleda was startled by the vehemence with which her uncle said,
"No, never!" and he presently added, "I'll do nothing here."
"Well, well," said the doctor to himself; "will you go into
the country?"
"Yes! anywhere! the further the better."
Mrs. Rossitur startled, but her husband's face did not
encourage her to open her lips.
"Ay; but on a farm, I mean?"
"On anything, that will give me a standing."
"I thought that, too," said Dr. Gregory, now whirling about.
"I have a fine piece of land that wants a tenant. You may take
it at an easy rate, and pay me when the crops come in. I
shouldn't expect so young a farmer, you know, to keep any
closer terms."
"How far is it?"
"Far enough up in Wyandot County."
"How large?"
"A matter of two or three hundred acres of so. It is very
fine, they say. It came into a fellow's hands that owed me
what I thought was a bad debt: so, for fear he would never pay
me, I thought best to take it and pay him; whether the place
will ever fill my pockets again remains to be seen doubtful,
I think."
"I'll take it, Dr. Gregory, and see if I cannot bring that
about."
"Pooh, pooh! fill your own. I am not careful about it; the
less money one has the more it jingles, unless it gets too
low, indeed."
"I will take it, Dr. Gregory, and feel myself under obligation
to you."
"No, I told you, not till the crops come in. No obligation is
binding till the term is up. Well, I'll see you further about
it."
"But Rolf!" said Mrs. Rossitur, "stop a minute; uncle, don't
go yet; Rolf don't know anything in the world about the
management of a farm; neither do I."
"The 'faire Una' can enlighten you," said the doctor, waving
his hand towards his little favourite in the corner. "But I
forgot! Well, if you don't know, the crops wont come in;
that's all the difference."
But Mrs. Rossitur looked anxiously at her husband. "Do you
know exactly what you are undertaking, Rolf!" she said.
"If I do not, I presume I shall discover in time."
"But it may be too late," said Mrs. Rossitur, in the tone of
sad remonstrance that had gone all the length it dared.
"It can not be too late!" said her husband, impatiently. "If I
do not know what I am taking up, I know very well what I am
laying down; and it does not signify a straw what comes after
if it was a snail-shell, that would cover my head!"
"Hum " said the old doctor, "the snail is very well in his
way, but I have no idea that he was ever cut out for a
farmer."
"Do you think you will find it a business you would like, Mr.
Rossitur?" said his wife, timidly.
"I tell you," said he, facing about, "it is not a question of
liking. I will like anything that will bury me out of the
world."
Poor Mrs. Rossitur! She had not yet come to wishing herself
buried alive, and she had small faith in the permanence of her
husband's taste for it. She looked desponding.
"You don't suppose," said Mr. Rossitur, stopping again in the
middle of the floor, after another turn and a half "you do
not suppose that I am going to take the labouring of the farm
upon myself? I shall employ some one, of course, who
understands the matter, to take all that off my hands."
The doctor thought of the old proverb, and the alternative the
plough presents to those who would thrive by it; Fleda thought
of Mr. Didenhover; Mrs. Rossitur would fain have suggested
that such an important person must be well paid; but neither
of them spoke.
"Of course," said Mr. Rossitur, haughtily, as he went on with
his walk, "I do not expect, any more than you, to live in the
back woods the life we have been leading here. That is at an
end."
"Is it a very wild country?" asked Mrs. Rossitur of the
doctor.
"No wild beasts, my dear, if that is your meaning and I do
not suppose there are even many snakes left by this time."
"No, but, dear uncle, I mean, is it in all unsettled state?"
"No, my dear, not at all perfectly quiet."
"Ah! but do not play with me," exclaimed poor Mrs. Rossitur,
between laughing and crying; "I mean, is it far from any
town, and not among neighbours?"
"Far enough to be out of the way of morning calls," said the
doctor; "and when your neighbours come to see you, they will
expect tea by four o'clock. There are not a great many near
by, but they don't mind coming from five or six miles off."
Mrs. Rossitur looked chilled, and horrified. To her he had
described a very wild country indeed. Fleda would have laughed
if it had not been for her aunt's face; but that settled down
into a doubtful anxious look that pained her. It pained the
old doctor too.
"Come," said he, touching her pretty chin with his fore-finger
"what are you thinking of? folks may be good folks, and yet
have tea at four o'clock, mayn't they?"
"When do they have dinner!" said Mrs. Rossitur.
"I really don't know. When you get settled up there, I'll come
and see."
"Hardly," said Mrs. Rossitur. "I don't believe it would be
possible for Emile to get dinner before the tea-time; and I am
sure I shouldn't like to propose such a thing to Mrs. Renney."
The doctor fidgeted about a little on the hearth-rug, and
looked comical, perfectly understood by one acute observer in
the corner.
"Are you wise enough to imagine, Lucy," said Mr. Rossitur,
sternly, "that you can carry your whole establishment with
you? What do you suppose Emile and Mrs. Renney would do in a
farmhouse?"
"I can do without whatever you can," said Mrs. Rossitur,
meekly. "I did not know that you would be willing to part with
Emile, and I do not think Mrs. Renney would like to leave us."
"I told you before, it is no more a question of liking,"
answered he.
"And if it were," said the doctor, "I have no idea that
Monsieur Emile and Madame Renney would be satisfied with the
style of a country kitchen, or think the interior of
Yankeeland a hopeful sphere for their energies."
"What sort of a house is it?" said Mrs. Rossitur.
"A wooden-frame house, I believe."
"No, but, dear uncle, do tell me."
"What sort of a house? Humph large enough, I am told. It
will accommodate you in one way."
"Comfortable?"
"I don't know," said the doctor, shaking his head "depends
on who's in it. No house is that per se. But I reckon there
isn't much plate glass. I suppose you'll find the doors all
painted blue, and every fireplace with a crane in it."
"A crane!" said Mrs. Rossitur, to whose imagination the word
suggested nothing but a large water-bird with a long neck.
"Ay!" said the doctor. "But it's just as well. You wont want
hanging lamps there and candelabra would hardly be in place
either, to hold tallow candles."
"Tallow candles!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur. Her husband winced,
but said nothing.
"Ay," said the doctor, again "and make them yourself, if you
are a good housewife. Come, Lucy," said he, taking her hand,
"do you know how the wild fowl do on the Chesapeake? duck
and swim under water till they can show their heads with
safety. 'T wont spoil your eyes to see by a tallow candle."
Mrs. Rossitur half smiled, but looked anxiously towards her
husband.
"Pooh, pooh! Rolf wont care what the light burns that lights
him to independence and when you get there, you may
illuminate with a whole whale if you like. By the way, Rolf,
there is a fine water power up yonder, and a saw-mill in good
order, they tell me, but a short way from the house. Hugh
might learn to manage it, and it would be fine employment for
him."
"Hugh!" said his mother, disconsolately. Mr. Rossitur neither
spoke nor looked an answer. Fleda sprang forward.
"A saw-mill! Uncle Orrin! where is it?"
"Just a little way from the house, they say. You can't manage
it, fair Saxon! though you look as if you would undertake
all the mills in creation, for a trifle."
"No, but the place, uncle Orrin; where is the place?"
"The place? Hum why it's up in Wyandot County some five or
six miles from the Montepoole Spring what's this they call
it? Queechy! By the way!" said he, reading Fleda's
countenance, "it is the very place where your father was born!
it is! I didn't think of that before."
Fleda's hands were clasped.
"Oh, I am very glad!" she said. "It's my old home. It is the
most lovely place, aunt Lucy! most lovely and we shall
have some good neighbours there too. Oh, I am very glad! The
dear old saw-mill! "
"Dear old saw-mill!" said the doctor, looking at her. "Rolf,
I'll tell you what, you shall give me this girl. I want her. I
can take better care of her, perhaps, now, than you can. Let
her come to me when you leave the city it will be better for
her than to help work the saw-mill; and I have as good a right
to her as anybody, for Amy before her was like my own child."
The doctor spoke not with his usual light jesting manner, but
very seriously. Hugh's lips parted Mrs. Rossitur looked with
a sad thoughtful look at Fleda Mr. Rossitur walked up and
down looking at nobody. Fleda watched him.
"What does Fleda herself say?" said he, stopping short
suddenly. His face softened, and his eye changed as it fell
upon her, for the first time that day. Fleda saw her opening;
she came to him, within his arms, and laid her head upon his
breast.
"What does Fleda say?" said he, softly kissing her.
Fleda's tears said a good deal, that needed no interpreter.
She felt her uncle's hand passed more and more tenderly over
her head so tenderly that it made it all the more difficult
for her to govern herself and stop her tears. But she did stop
them, and looked up at him then with such a face so glowing
through smiles and tears it was like a very rainbow of hope
upon the cloud of their prospects. Mr. Rossitur felt the power
of the sunbeam wand; it reached his heart; it was even with a
smile that he said, as he looked at her
"Will you go to your uncle Orrin, Fleda?"
"Not if uncle Rolf will keep me."
"Keep you!" said Mr. Rossitur; "I should like to see who
wouldn't keep you! There, Dr. Gregory, you have your answer."
"Hum! I might have known," said the doctor, "that the 'faire
Una' would abjure cities. Come here, you Elf!" and he
wrapped her in his arms so tight she could not stir "I have
a spite against you for this. What amends will you make me for
such an affront?"
"Let me take breath," said Fleda, laughing, "and I'll tell
you. You don't want any amends, uncle Orrin."
"Well," said he, gazing with more feeling than he cared to
show into that sweet face, so innocent of apology-making you
shall promise me that you will not forget uncle Orrin, and the
old house in Bleecker Street."
Fleda's eyes grew more wistful.
"And will you promise me that if ever you want anything, you
will come, or send straight there?"
"If ever I want anything I can't get nor do without," said
Fleda.
"Pshaw!" said the doctor, letting her go, but laughing at the
same time. " Mind my words, Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur if ever
that girl takes the wrong bit in her mouth Well, well! I'll
go home."
Home he went. The rest drew together particularly near, round
the fire Hugh at his father's shoulder, and Fleda kneeling
on the rug, between her uncle and aunt, with a hand on each;
and there was not one of them whose gloom was not lightened by
her bright face and cheerful words of hope, that, in the new
scenes they were going to, "they would all be so happy."
The days that followed were gloomy, but Fleda's ministry was
unceasing. Hugh seconded her well, though more passively.
Feeling less pain himself, he perhaps for that very reason was
less acutely alive to it in others not so quick to foresee
and ward off, not so skilful to allay it. Fleda seemed to have
intuition for the one and a charm for the other. To her there
was pain in every parting; her sympathies clung to whatever
wore the livery of habit. There was hardly any piece of
furniture, there was no book or marble or picture, that she
could take leave of without a pang. But it was kept to
herself; her sorrowful good-byes were said in secret; before
others, in all those weeks, she was a very Euphrosyne light,
bright, cheerful of eye, and foot, and hand a shield between
her aunt and every annoyance that she could take instead a
good little fairy, that sent her sunbeam wand, quick as a
flash, where any eye rested gloomily. People did not always
find out where the light came from, but it was her witchery.
The creditors would touch none of Mrs. Rossitur's things, her
husband's honourable behaviour had been so thorough. They even
presented him with one or two pictures, which he sold for a
considerable sum; and to Mrs. Rossitur they gave up all the
plate in daily use, a matter of great rejoicing to Fleda, who
knew well how sorely it would have been missed. She and her
aunt had quite a little library, too, of their own private
store; a little one it was indeed, but the worth of every
volume was now trebled in her eyes. Their furniture was all
left behind; and in its stead went some of neat light painted
wood, which looked to Fleda deliciously countrified. A
promising cook and housemaid were engaged to go with them to
the wilds, and about the first of April they turned their
backs upon the city.