CHAPTER XXII.

"Some bring a capon, some a rurall cake,

Some nuts, some apples; some that thinke they make

The better cheeses, bring 'hem; or else send

By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend

This way to husbands; and whose baskets beare

An embleme of themselves in plum or pears."

BEN JOHNSON.

So the time walked away — for this family was not now of those

"whom time runneth withal" — to the second summer of Mr.

Didenhover's term.

One morning Mrs. Rossitur was seated in the breakfast-room at

her usual employment, mending and patching — no sinecure now.

Fleda opened the kitchen door and came in, folding up a calico

apron she had just taken off.

"You are tired, dear," said Mrs. Rossitur, sorrowfully; — you

look pale."

"Do I?" said Fleda, sitting down. "I am a little tired!"

"Why do you do so?"

"Oh, it's nothing," said Fleda, cheerfully; "I haven't hurt

myself. I shall be rested again in a few minutes."

"What have you been doing?"

"Oh, I tired myself a little before breakfast in the garden, I

suppose. Aunt Lucy, don't you think I had almost a bushel of

pease? — and there was a little over a half bushel last-time,

so I shall call it a bushel. Isn't that fine?"

"You didn't pick them all yourself?"

"Hugh helped me a little while; but he had the horse to get

ready, and I was out before him this morning — poor fellow, he

was tired from yesterday, I dare say."

Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, a look between remonstrance and

reproach, and cast her eves down without saying a word,

swallowing a whole heartful of thoughts and feelings. Fleda

stooped forward till her own forehead softly touched Mrs.

Rossitur's, as gentle a chiding of despondency as a very

sunbeam could have given.

"Now, aunt Lucy! — what do you mean? Don't you know it's good

for me? — And do you know, Mr. Sweet will give me four

shillings a bushel? and, aunt Lucy, I sent three dozen heads

of lettuce this morning besides. Isn't that doing well? and I

sent two dozen day before yesterday. It is time they were

gone, for they are running up to seed, this set; I have got

another fine set almost ready."

Mrs. Rossitur looked at her again, as if she had been a sort

of terrestrial angel.

"And how much will you get for them?"

"I don't know exactly — threepence, or sixpence, perhaps — I

guess not so much — they are so easily raised; though I don't

believe there are so fine as mine to be seen in this region.

If I only had somebody to water the strawberries! — we should

have a great many. Aunt Lucy, I am going to send as many as I

can without robbing uncle Rolf — he sha'n't miss them; but the

rest of us don't mind eating rather fewer than usual? I shall

make a good deal by them. And I think these morning rides do

Hugh good; don't you think so?"

"And what have you been busy about ever since breakfast,

Fleda?"

"Oh — two or three things," said Fleda, lightly.

"What?"

"I had bread to make — and then I thought, while my hands were

in, I would make a custard for uncle Rolf."

"You needn't have done that, dear, it was not necessary."

"Yes it was, because, you know, we have only fried pork for

dinner to-day; and while we have the milk and eggs, it doesn't

cost much — the sugar is almost nothing. He will like it

better, and so will Hugh. As for you," said Fleda, gently

touching her forehead again, "you know it is of no

consequence!"

"I wish you would think yourself of some consequence," said

Mrs. Rossitur.

"Don't I think myself of consequence?" said Fleda,

affectionately. "I don't know how you'd all get on without me.

What do you think I have a mind to do now, by way of resting

myself?"

"Well?" said Mrs. Rossitur, thinking of something else.

"It is the day for making presents to the minister, you know?"

"The minister? —"

"Yes, the new minister — they expect him to-day; you have

heard of it; the things are all to be carried to his house to-

day. I have a great notion to go and see the fun — If I only

had anything in the world I could possibly take with me —"

"Aren't you too tired, dear?"

"No — it would rest me; it is early yet; if I only had

something to take! I couldn't go without taking something —"

"A basket of eggs?" said Mrs. Rossitur.

"Can't, aunt Lucy — I can't spare them; so many of the hens

are setting now. A basket of strawberries! — that's the thing!

I've got enough picked for that and to-night too. That will

do!"

Fleda's preparations were soon made, and with her basket on

her arm she was ready to set forth.

"If pride had not been a little put down in me," she said,

smiling, "I suppose I should rather stay at home than go with

such a petty offering. And no doubt every one that sees it or

hears of it will lay it to anything but the right reason. So

much the world knows about the people it judges! It is too bad

to leave you all alone, aunt Lucy."

Mrs. Rossitur pulled her down for a kiss — a kiss in which how

much was said on both sides! — and Fleda set forth, choosing,

as she very commonly did, the old-time way through the

kitchen.

"Off again?" said Barby, who was on her knees scrubbing the

great flag-stones of the hearth.

"Yes, I am going up to see the donation party."

"Has the minister come?"

"No, but he is coming to-day, I understand."

"He ha'n't preached for 'em yet, has he?"

"Not yet; I suppose he will next Sunday."

"They are in a mighty hurry to give him a donation party!"

said Barby. "I'd a' waited till he was here first. I don't

believe they'd be quite so spry with their donations if they

had paid the last man up as they ought. I'd rather give a man

what belongs to him, and make him presents afterwards."

"Why, so I hope they will, Barby," said Fleda, laughing. But

Barby said no more.

The parsonage-house was about a quarter of a mile, a little

more, from the saw-mill, in a line at right angles with the

main road. Fleda took Hugh from his work, to see her safe

there. The road ran north, keeping near the level of the mid-

hill, where it branched off a little below the saw-mill; and

as the ground continued rising towards the east, and was well

clothed with woods, the way, at this hour, was still

pleasantly shady. To the left, the same slope of ground

carried down to the foot of the hill gave them an

uninterrupted view over a wide plain or bottom, edged in the

distance with a circle of gently swelling hills. Close against

the hills, in the far corner of the plain, lay the little

village of Queechy Run, hid from sight by a slight intervening

rise of ground. Not a chimney showed itself in the whole

spread of country. A sunny landscape just now; but rich in

picturesque associations of hay-cocks and win-rows, spotting

it near and far; and close by below them was a field of mowers

at work; they could distinctly hear the measured rush of the

scythes through the grass, and then the soft clink of the

rifles would seem to play some old delicious tune of childish

days. Fleda made Hugh stand still to listen. It was a warm

day, but "the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of

violets" could hardly be more sweet than the air which, coming

to them over the whole breadth of the valley, had been charged

by the new-made hay.

"How good it is, Hugh," said Fleda, "that one can get out of

doors, and forget everything that ever happened or ever will

happen within four walls!"

"Do you?" said Hugh, rather soberly.

"Yes, I do — even in my flower-patch, right before the house-

door; but here" — said Fleda, turning away, and swinging her

basket of strawberries as she went, "I have no idea I ever did

such a thing as make bread, — and how clothes get mended I do

not comprehend in the least!"

"And have you forgotten the pease and the asparagus too?"

"I am afraid you haven't, dear Hugh," said Fleda, linking her

arm within his. "Hugh — I must find some way to make money."

"More money!" said Hugh, smiling.

"Yes — this garden business is all very well, but it doesn't

come to any very great things after all, if you are aware of

it; and Hugh, I want to get aunt Lucy a new dress. I can't

bear to see her in that old merino, and it isn't good for her.

Why, Hugh, she couldn't possibly see anybody, if anybody

should come to the house."

"Who is there to come?" said Hugh.

"Why, nobody; but still, she ought not to be so."

"What more can you do, dear Fleda? You work a great deal too

hard already," said Hugh, sighing. "You should have seen the

way father and mother looked at you last night when you were

asleep on the sofa."

Fleda stifled her sigh, and went on.

"I am sure there are things that might be done — things for

the booksellers — translating, or copying, or something — I

don't know exactly — I have heard of people's doing such

things. I mean to write to uncle Orrin, and ask him. I am sure

he can manage it for me."

"What were you writing the other night?" said Hugh, suddenly.

"When!"

"The other night — when you were writing by the fire-light? I

saw your pencil scribbling away at a furious rate over the

paper, and you kept your hand up carefully between me and your

face, but I could see it was something very interesting. Ha!"

— said Hugh, laughingly trying to get another view of Fleda's

face which was again kept from him. "Send that to uncle Orrin,

Fleda; — or show it to me first, and then I will tell you."

Fleda made no answer; and at the parsonage-door Hugh left her.

Two or three wagons were standing there, but nobody to be

seen. Fleda went up the steps and crossed the broad piazza,

brown and unpainted, but picturesque still, and guided by the

sound of tongues turned to the right, where she found a large

low room, the very centre of the stir. But the stir had not by

any means reached the height yet. Not more than a dozen people

were gathered. Here were aunt Syra and Mrs. Douglass,

appointed a committee to receive and dispose the offerings as

they were brought in.

"Why, there is not much to be seen yet," said Fleda. "I did

not know I was so early."

"Time enough," said Mrs. Douglass. "They'll come the thicker

when they do come. Good morning, Dr. Quackenboss! I hope

you're a-going to give us something else besides a bow? and I

wont take none of your physic neither."

"I humbly submit," said the doctor, graciously, "that nothing

ought to be expected of gentlemen that — a — are so unhappy as

to be alone; for they really — a — have nothing to give — but

themselves."

There was a shout of merriment.

"And suppos'n that's a gift that nobody wants?" said Mrs.

Douglass's sharp eye and voice at once.

"In that case," said the doctor, "I really — Miss Ringgan, may

I — a — may I relieve your hand of this fair burden?"

"It is not a very fair burden, Sir," said Fleda, laughing, and

relinquishing her strawberries.

"Ah, but, fair, you know, I mean — we speak — in that sense —

Mrs. Douglass, here is by far the most elegant offering that

your hands will have the honour of receiving this day."

"I hope so," said Mrs. Douglass, "or there wont be much to eat

for the minister. Did you never take notice how elegant things

somehow made folks grow poor?"

"I guess he'd as lieve see something a little substantial,"

said aunt Syra.

"Well, now," said the doctor, "here is Miss Ringgan, who is

unquestionably — a —elegant! — and I am sure nobody will say

that she — looks poor."

In one sense, surely not! There could not be two opinions. But

with all the fairness of health, and the flush which two or

three feelings had brought to her cheeks, there was a look as

if the workings of the mind had refined away a little of the

strength of the physical frame, and as if growing poor in Mrs.

Douglass's sense — that is, thin, might easily be the next

step.

"What's your uncle going to give us, Fleda?" said aunt Syra.

But Fleda was saved replying; for Mrs. Douglass, who, if she

was sharp, could be good-natured too, and had watched to see

how Fleda took the double fire upon elegance and poverty,

could bear no more trial of that sweet gentle face. Without

giving her time to answer, she carried her off to see the

things already stored in the closet, bidding the doctor, over

her shoulder, "be off after his goods, whether he had got 'em

or no."

There was certainly a promising beginning made for the future

minister's comfort. One shelf was already completely stocked

with pies, and another showed a quantity of cake, and biscuits

enough to last a good-sized family for several meals.

"That is always the way," said Mrs. Douglass; "it's the

strangest thing that folks has no sense! Now, one half o' them

pies 'll be dried up afore they can eat the rest; 't aint much

loss, for Mis' Prin sent 'em down, and if they are worth

anything, it's the first time anything ever come out of her

house that was. Now look at them biscuit!"

"How many are coming to eat them?" said Fleda.

"How?"

"How large a family has the minister?"

"He ha'n't a bit of a family! He ain't married."

"Not!"

At the grave way in which Mrs. Douglass faced round upon her

and answered, and at the idea of a single mouth devoted to all

that closetful Fleda's gravity gave place to most

uncontrollable merriment.

"No," said Mrs. Douglass, with a curious twist of her mouth,

but commanding herself, — "he aint, to be sure, not yet. He

ha'n't any family but himself and some sort of a housekeeper,

I suppose; they'll divide the house between 'em."

"And the biscuits, I hope," said Fleda. "But what will he do

with all the other things, Mrs. Douglass?"

"Sell 'em if he don't want 'em," said Mrs. Douglass,

quizzically. "Shut up, Fleda, I forget who sent them biscuit —

somebody that calculated to make a show for a little, I

reckon. My sakes! I believe it was Mis' Springer herself! she

didn't hear me though," said Mrs. Douglass, peeping out of the

half-open door. "It's a good thing the world aint all alike;

there's Mis' Plumfield — stop now, and I'll tell you all she

sent; that big jar of lard, there's as good as eighteen or

twenty pound — and that basket of eggs, I don't know how many

there is — and that cheese, a real fine one, I'll be bound,

she wouldn't pick out the worst in her dairy; and Seth fetched

down a hundred weight of corn meal, and another of rye flour;

now, that's what I call doing things something like; if

everybody else would keep up their end as well as they keep up

their'n, the world wouldn't be quite so one-sided as it is. I

never see the time yet when I couldn't tell where to find Mis'

Plumfield."

"No, nor anybody else," said Fleda, looking happy.

"There's Mis' Silbert couldn't find nothing better to send

than a kag of soap," Mrs. Douglass went on, seeming very much

amused; "I _was_ beat when I saw that walk in! I should think

she'd feel streaked to come here by and by, and see it a-

standing between Mis' Plumfield's lard and Mis' Clavering's

pork — that's a handsome kag of pork, aint it? What's that man

done with your strawberries? I'll put 'em up here, afore

somebody takes a notion to 'em. I'll let the minister know who

he's got to thank for 'em," said she, winking at Fleda.

"Where's Dr. Quackenboss?"

"Coming, Ma'am!" sounded from the hall, and forthwith, at the

open door, entered the doctor's head, simultaneously with a

large cheese, which he was rolling before him, the rest of the

doctor's person being thrown into the background in

consequence — a curious natural representation of a

wheelbarrow, the wheel being the only artificial part.

"Oh! that's you, doctor, is it?" said Mrs. Douglass.

"This is me, Ma'am," said the doctor, rolling up to the closet

door; "this has the honour to be — a — myself, — bringing my

service to the feet of Miss Ringgan."

" 'Tain't very elegant," said the sharp lady.

Fleda thought if his service was at her feet, her feet should

be somewhere else, and accordingly stepped quietly out of the

way, and went to one of the windows, from whence she could

have a view both of the comers and the come; and by this time,

thoroughly in the spirit of the thing, she used her eyes upon

both with great amusement. People were constantly arriving

now, in wagons and on foot; and stores of all kinds were most

literally pouring in. Bags, and even barrels of meal, flour,

pork, and potatoes; strings of dried apples, salt, hams, and

beef; hops, pickles, vinegar, maple-sugar and molasses; rolls

of fresh butter, cheese, and eggs; cake, bread, and pies,

without end. Mr. Penny, the storekeeper, sent a box of tea.

Mr. Winegar, the carpenter, a new ox-sled. Earl Douglass

brought a handsome axe-helve of his own fashioning; his wife,

a quantity of rolls of wool. Zan Finn carted a load of wood

into the wood-shed, and Squire Thornton another. Home-made

candles, custards, preserves, and smoked liver, came in a

batch from two or three miles off, up on the mountain. Half-a-

dozen chairs from the factory-man; half-a-dozen brooms from

the other storekeeper at the Deepwater settlement; a carpet

for the best room from the ladies of the township, who had

clubbed forces to furnish it — and a home-made concern it was,

from the shears to the loom.

The room was full now, for every one, after depositing his

gift, turned aside to see what others had brought and were

bringing; and men and women, the young and old, had their

several circles of gossip in various parts of the crowd. Apart

from them all Fleda sat in her window, probably voted

"elegant" by others than the doctor, for they vouchsafed her

no more than a transitory attention, and sheered off to find

something more congenial. She sat watching the people, smiling

very often as some odd figure, or look, or some peculiar turn

of expression or tone of voice, caught her ear or her eye.

Both ear and eye were fastened by a young countryman, with a

particularly fresh face, whom she saw approaching the house.

He came up on foot, carrying a single fowl slung at his back

by a stick thrown across his shoulder, and, without stirring

hat or stick, he came into the room, and made his way through

the crowd of people, looking to the one hand and the other,

evidently in a maze of doubt to whom he should deliver himself

and his chicken, till brought up by Mrs. Douglass's sharp

voice.

"Well, Philetus, what are you looking for?"

"Do, Mis' Douglass!" — it is impossible to express the

abortive attempt at a bow which accompanied this salutation —

"I want to know if the minister 'll be in town to-day."

"What do you want of him?"

"I don't want nothin' of him. I want to know if he'll be in

town to-day?"

"Yes; I expect he'll be along directly. Why, what then?"

" 'Cause I've got teu chickens for him here, and mother said

they hadn't ought to be kept no longer, and if he wan't to

hum, I were to fetch 'em back, straight."

"Well, he'll be here, so let's have 'em," said Mrs. Douglass,

biting her lips.

"What's become o' t'other one?" said Earl, as the young man's

stick was brought round to the table: "I guess you've lost it,

ha'n't you?"

"My gracious!" was all Philetus's powers were equal to. Mrs.

Douglass went off into fits, which rendered her incapable of

speaking, and left the unlucky chicken-bearer to tell his

story his own way, but all he brought forth was, "Du tell! — I

_am_ beat!"

"Where's t'other one?" said Mrs. Douglass, between paroxysms.

"Why, I ha'n't done nothin' to it," said Philetus, dismally;

"there was teu on 'em afore I started, and I took and tied 'em

together, and hitched 'em onto the stick, and that one must

ha' loosened itself off some way — I believe the darned thing

did it o' purpose."

"I guess your mother knowed that one wouldn't keep till it got

here," said Mrs. Douglass.

The room was now all one shout, in the midst of which poor

Philetus took himself off as speedily as possible. Before

Fleda had dried her eyes, her attention was taken by a lady

and gentleman who had just got out of a vehicle of more than

the ordinary pretension, and were coming up to the door. The

gentleman was young — the lady was not; both had a

particularly amiable and pleasant appearance; but about the

lady there was something that moved Fleda singularly, and,

somehow, touched the spring of old memories, which she felt

stirring at the sight of her. As they neared the house she

lost them; then they entered the room and came through it

slowly, looking about them with an air of good-humoured

amusement. Fleda's eye was fixed, but her mind puzzled itself

in vain to recover what, in her experience, had been connected

with that fair and lady-like physiognomy, and the bland smile

that was overlooked by those acute eyes. The eyes met hers,

and then seemed to reflect her doubt, for they remained as

fixed as her own, while the lady, quickening her steps, came

up to her.

"I am sure," she said, holding out her hand, and with a gentle

graciousness that was very agreeable, "I am sure you are

somebody I know. What is your name?"

"Fleda Ringgan."

"I thought so!" said the lady, now shaking her hand warmly,

and kissing her; "I knew nobody could have been your mother

but Amy Charlton! How like her you look! Don't you know me?

don't you remember Mrs. Evelyn?"

"Mrs. Evelyn!" said Fleda, the whole coming back to her at

once.

"You remember me now? — How well I recollect you! and all that

old time at Montepoole. Poor little creature that you were!

and dear little creature, as I am sure you have been ever

since! And how is your dear aunt Lucy?"

Fleda answered that she was well.

"I used to love her very much — that was before I knew you —

before she went abroad. We have just got home — this spring;

and now we are staying at Montepoole for a few days. I shall

come and see her to-morrow — I knew you were somewhere in this

region, but I did not know exactly where to find you; that was

one reason why I came here to-day, I thought I might hear

something of you. And where are your aunt Lucy's children? and

how are they?"

"Hugh is at home," said Fleda, "and rather delicate — Charlton

is in the army."

"In the army! In Mexico! —"

"In Mexico he has been —"

"Your poor aunt Lucy!"

"— In Mexico he has been, but he is just coming home now — he

has been wounded, and he is coming home to spend a long

furlough."

"Coming home. That will make you all very happy. And Hugh is

delicate; and how are you, love? you hardly look like a

country-girl. Mr. Olmney!" said Mrs. Evelyn, looking round for

her companion, who was standing quietly a few steps off,

surveying the scene. "Mr. Olmney! I am going to do you a

favour, Sir, in introducing you to Miss Ringgan, a very old

friend of mine. Mr. Olmney, these are not exactly the apple-

cheeks and _robustious_ demonstrations we are taught to look for

in country-land."

This was said with a kind of sly funny enjoyment, which took

away everything disagreeable from the appeal; but Fleda

conceived a favourable opinion of the person to whom it was

made from the fact that he paid her no compliment, and made no

answer beyond a very pleasant smile.

"What is Mrs. Evelyn's definition of a _very old_ friend?" said

he, with another smile, as that lady moved off to take a more

particular view of what she had come to see. "To judge by the

specimen before me, I should consider it very equivocal."

"Perhaps Mrs. Evelyn counts friendships by inheritance," said

Fleda. "I think they ought to be counted so."

" 'Thine own friend, and thy father's friend, forsake not,' "

said the young man.

Fleda looked up and smiled a pleased answer.

"There is something very lovely in the faithfulness of tried

friendship, and very uncommon."

"I know that it is uncommon only by hearsay," said Fleda. "I

have so many good friends."

He was silent for an instant, possibly thinking there might be

a reason for that, unknown only to Fleda herself.

"Perhaps one must be in peculiar circumstances to realize it,"

he said, sighing; — "circumstances that leave one of no

importance to any one in the world. But it is a kind lesson, —

one learns to depend more on the one friendship that can never

disappoint."

Fleda's eyes again gave an answer of sympathy; for she thought

from the shade that had come upon his face, that these

circumstances had probably been known to himself.

"This is rather an amusing scene," he remarked presently, in a

low tone.

"Very," said Fleda. "I have never seen such a one before."

"Nor I," said he. "It is a pleasant scene, too; it is pleasant

to see so many evidences of kindness and good feeling on the

part of all these people."

"There is all the more show of it, I suppose, to-day," said

Fleda, "because we have a new minister coming; they want to

make a favourable impression."

"Does the old proverb of the 'new broom' hold good here too?"

said he, smiling. "What's the name of your new minister?"

"I am not certain," said Fleda; "there were two talked of; the

last I heard was, that it was an old Mr. Carey; but from what

I hear this morning, I suppose it must be the other — a Mr.

Ollum, or some such queer name, I believe."

Fleda thought her hearer looked very much amused, and followed

his eye into the room, where Mrs. Evelyn was going about in

all quarters looking at everything, and finding occasion to

enter into conversation with at least a quarter of the people

who were present. Whatever she was saying, it seemed at that

moment to have something to do with them, for sundry eyes

turned in their direction; and presently Dr. Quackenboss came

up, with even more than common suavity of manner.

"I trust Miss Ringgan will do me the favour of making me

acquainted with — a — with our future pastor!" said the

doctor, looking, however, not at all at Miss Ringgan, but

straight at the pastor in question. "I have great pleasure in

giving you the first welcome, Sir — or, I should say, rather

the second; since, no doubt, Miss Ringgan has been in advance

of me. It is not un — a — appropriate, Sir, for I may say we —

a — divide the town between us. You are, I am sure, a worthy

representative of Peter and Paul; and I am — a — a pupil of

Esculapius, Sir! You are the intellectual physician, and I am

the external."

"I hope we shall both prove ourselves good workmen, Sir," said

the young minister, shaking the doctor's hand heartily.

"This is Dr. Quackenboss; Mr. Olmney," said Fleda, making a

tremendous effort. But though she could see corresponding

indications about her companion's eyes and mouth, she admired

the kindness and self-command with which he listened to the

doctor's civilities and answered them; expressing his grateful

sense of the favours received, not only from him, but from

others.

"Oh — a little to begin with," said the doctor, looking round

upon the room, which would certainly have furnished _that_ for

fifty people; "I hope we aint done yet by considerable — But

here is Miss Ringgan, Mr. — a — Ummin, that has brought you

some of the fruits of her own garden, with her own fair hands

— a basket of fine strawberries, which, I am sure — a — will

make you forget everything else!"

Mr. Olmney had the good-breeding not to look at Fleda, as he

answered, "I am sure the spirit of kindness was the same in

all, Dr. Quackenboss, and I trust not to forget that readily."

Others now came up; and Mr. Olmney was walked off to be "made

acquainted" with all, or with all the chief of his

parishioners then and there assembled. Fleda watched him going

about, shaking hands, talking and smiling, in all directions,

with about as much freedom of locomotion as a fly in a

spider's web; till, at Mrs. Evelyn's approach, the others fell

off a little, and taking him by the arm, she rescued him.

"My dear Mr. Olmney," she whispered, with an intensely amused

face, "I shall have a vision of you every day for a month to

come, sitting down to dinner, with a rueful face, to a

whortleberry pie; for there are so many of them, your

conscience will not let you have anything else cooked, — you

cannot manage more than one a day."

"Pies!" said the young gentleman, as Mrs. Evelyn left talking,

to indulge her feelings in ecstatic quiet laughing — "I have a

horror of pies!"

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Evelyn, nodding her head delightedly, as

she drew him towards the pantry — "I know! — Come and see what

is in store for you. You are to do penance for a month to come

with tin pans of blackberry jam, fringed with pie crust — no,

they can't be blackberries, they must be raspberries, the

blackberries are not ripe yet. And you may sup upon cake and

custards, unless you give the custards for the little pig out

there, he will want something."

"A pig!" said Mr. Olmney, in amaze — Mrs. Evelyn again giving

out in distress. "A pig!" said Mr. Olmney.

"Yes, a pig — a very little one," said Mrs. Evelyn,

convulsively. "I am sure he is hungry now."

They had reached the pantry, and Mr. Olmney's face was all

that was wanting to Mrs. Evelyn's delight. How she smothered

it, so that it should go no further than to distress his self-

command, is a mystery known only to the initiated. Mrs.

Douglass was forthwith called into council.

"Mrs. Douglass," said Mr. Olmney, "I feel very much inclined

to play the host, and beg my friends to share with me some of

these good things they have been so bountifully providing."

"He would enjoy them much more than he would alone, Mrs.

Douglass," said Mrs. Evelyn, who still had hold of Mr.

Olmney's arm, looking round to the lady with a most benign

face.

"I reckon some of 'em would be past enjoying by the time he

got to 'em, wouldn't they?" said the lady. "Well, they'll have

to take 'em in their fingers, for our crockery ha'n't come yet

— I shall have to jog Mr. Flatt's elbow; but hungry folks aint

curious."

"In their fingers, or any way, provided you have only a knife

to cut them with," said Mr. Olmney, while Mrs. Evelyn squeezed

his arm in secret mischief; "and pray, if we can muster two

knives, let us cut one of these cheeses, Mrs. Douglass."

And presently Fleda saw pieces of pie walking about in all

directions, supported by pieces of cheese. And then Mrs.

Evelyn and Mr. Olmney came out from the pantry and came

towards her, the latter bringing her, with his own hands, a

portion in a tin pan. The two ladies sat down in the window

together to eat and be amused.

"My dear Fleda, I hope you are hungry," said Mrs. Evelyn,

biting her pie, Fleda could not help thinking, with an air of

good-humoured condescension.

"I am, Ma'am," she said, laughing.

"You look just as you used to do," Mrs. Evelyn went on,

earnestly.

"Do I?" said Fleda, privately thinking that the lady must have

good eyes for features of resemblance.

"Except that you have more colour in your cheeks and more

sparkles in your eyes. Dear little creature that you were; I

want to make you know my children. Do you remember that Mr.

and Mrs. Carleton that took such care of you at Montepoole?"

"Certainly I do! — very well."

"We saw them last winter; we were down at their country place

in — shire. They have a magnificent place there — everything

you can think of to make life pleasant. We spent a week with

them. My dear Fleda, I wish I could show you that place! you

never saw anything like it."

Fleda ate her pie.

"We have nothing like it in this country; of course, cannot

have. One of those superb English country seats is beyond even

the imagination of an American."

"Nature has been as kind to us, hasn't she?" said Fleda.

"O yes; but such fortunes, you know. Mr. Olmney, what do you

think of those overgrown fortunes? I was speaking to Miss

Ringgan just now of a gentleman who has forty thousand pounds

a year income — sterling, Sir; forty thousand pounds a year

sterling. Somebody says, you know, that 'he who has more than

enough is a thief of the rights of his brother' — what do you

think?"

But Mr. Olmney's attention was at the moment forcibly called

off by the "income" of a parishioner.

"I suppose," said Fleda, "his thievish character must depend

entirely on the use he makes of what he has."

"I don't know," said Mrs. Evelyn, shaking her head; "I think

the possession of great wealth is very hardening."

"To a fine nature?" said Fleda.

Mrs. Evelyn shook her head again, but did not seem to think it

worth while to reply; and Fleda was trying the question in her

own mind whether wealth or poverty might be the most hardening

in its effects; when Mr. Olmney, having succeeded in getting

free again, came and took his station beside them, and they

had a particularly pleasant talk, which Fleda, who had seen

nobody in a great while, enjoyed very much. They had several

such talks in the course of the day; for though the

distractions caused by Mr. Olmney's other friends were many

and engrossing, he generally contrived in time to find his way

back to their window. Meanwhile, Mrs. Evelyn had a great deal

to say to Fleda, and to hear from her; and left her at last

under an engagement to spend the next day at the Pool.

Upon Mr. Olmney's departure with Mrs. Evelyn, the attraction

which had held the company together was broken, and they

scattered fast. Fleda presently finding herself in the

minority, was glad to set out with Miss Anastasia Finn, and

her sister Lucy, who would leave her but very little way from

her own door. But she had more company than she bargained for.

Dr. Quackenboss was pleased to attach himself to their party,

though his own shortest road certainly lay in another

direction; and Fleda wondered what he had done with his wagon,

which, beyond a question, must have brought the cheese in the

morning. She edged herself out of the conversation as much as

possible, and hoped it would prove so agreeable that he would

not think of attending her home. In vain. When they made a

stand at the cross roads the doctor stood on her side.

"I hope now you've made a commencement, you will come to see

us again, Fleda," said Miss Lucy.

"What's the use of asking?" said her sister, abruptly. "If she

has a mind to, she will, and if she ha'n't, I am sure we don't

want her."

They turned off.

"Those are excellent people," said the doctor, when they were

beyond hearing; "really respectable!"

"Are they?" said Fleda.

"But your goodness does not look, I am sure, to find — a —

Parisian graces in so remote a circle?"

"Certainly not," said Fleda.

"We have had a genial day!" said the doctor, quitting the

Finns.

"I don't know," said Fleda, permitting a little of her inward

merriment to work off; "I think it has been rather too hot."

"Yes," said the doctor, "the sun has been ardent; but I

referred rather to the — a — to the warming of affections, and

the pleasant exchange of intercourse on all sides which has

taken place. How do you like our — a — the stranger?"

"Who, Sir?"

"The new-comer — this young Mr. Ummin?"

Fleda answered, but she hardly knew what, for she was musing

whether the doctor would go away or come in. They reached the

door, and Fleda invited him, with terrible effort after her

voice; the doctor having just blandly offered an opinion upon

the decided polish of Mr. Olmney's manners.