CHAPTER XXIII.

"Labour is light, where love (quoth I) doth pay;

(Saith he) light burthens heavy, if far borne."

DRAYTON.

Fleda pushed open the parlour door, and preceded her convoy,

in a kind of tip-toe state of spirits. The first thing that

met her eyes was her aunt, in one of the few handsome silks

which were almost her sole relic of past wardrobe prosperity,

and with a face uncommonly happy and pretty; and the next

instant she saw the explanation of this appearance in her

cousin Charlton, a little palish, but looking better than she

had ever seen him, and another gentleman, of whom her eye took

in only the general outlines of fashion and comfortable

circumstances, now too strange to it to go unnoted. In Fleda's

usual mood her next movement would have been made with a

demureness that would have looked like bashfulness. But the

amusement and pleasure of the day just passed had for the

moment set her spirits free from the burden that generally

bound them down; and they were as elastic as her step, as she

came forward and presented to her aunt "Dr. Quackenboss," and

then turned to shake her cousin's hand.

"Charlton! — Where did you come from? We didn't expect you so

soon."

"You are not sorry to see me, I hope?"

"Not at all — very glad;" — and then as her eye glanced

towards the other new-comer, Charlton presented to her "Mr.

Thorn," and Fleda's fancy made a sudden quick leap on the

instant to the old hall at Montepoole, and the shot dog. And

then Dr. Quackenboss was presented, an introduction which

Captain Rossitur received coldly, and Mr. Thorn with something

more than frigidity.

The doctor's elasticity, however, defied depression,

especially in the presence of a silk dress and a military

coat. Fleda presently saw that he was agonizing her uncle.

Mrs. Rossitur had drawn close to her son. Fleda was left to

take care of the other visitor. The young men had both seemed

more struck at the vision presented to them than she had been

on her part. She thought neither of them was very ready to

speak to her.

"I did not know," said Mr. Thorn, softly, "what reason I had

to thank Rossitur for bringing me home with him to-night — he

promised me a supper and a welcome — but I find he did not

tell me the half of my entertainment."

"That was wise in him," said Fleda; "the half that is not

expected is always worth a great deal more than the other."

"In this case, most assuredly," said Thorn, bowing, and, Fleda

was sure, not knowing what to make of her.

"Have you been in Mexico, too, Mr. Thorn?"

"Not I! — that's an entertainment I beg to decline. I never

felt inclined to barter an arm for a shoulder-knot, or to

abridge my usual means of locomotion for the privilege of

riding on parade — or selling one's-self for a name. Peter

Schlemil's selling his shadow I can understand; but this is

really lessening one's-self that one's shadow may grow the

larger."

"But you were in the army?" said Fleda.

"Yes, it wasn't my doing. There is a time, you know, when one

must please the old folks — I grew old enough and wise enough

to cut loose from the army before I had gained or lost much by

it."

He did not understand the displeased gravity of Fleda's face,

and went on insinuatingly —

"Unless I have lost what Charlton has gained — something I did

not know hung upon the decision — Perhaps you think a man is

taller for having iron heels to his boots?"

"I do not measure a man by his inches," said Fleda.

"Then you have no particular predilection for shooting-men?"

"I have no predilection for shooting anything, Sir?"

"Then I am safe!" said he, with an arrogant little air of

satisfaction. "I was born under an indolent star, but I

confess to you, privately, of the two I would rather gather my

harvests with the sickle than the sword. How does your uncle

find it?"

"Find what, Sir?"

"The worship of Ceres? — I remember he used to be devoted to

Apollo and the Muses."

"Are they rival deities?"

"Why — I have been rather of the opinion that they were too

many for one house to hold," said Thorn, glancing at Mr.

Rossitur. "But perhaps the Graces manage to reconcile them."

"Did you ever hear of the Graces getting supper?" said Fleda.

"Because Ceres sometimes sets them at that work. Uncle Rolf,"

she added as she passed him — "Mr. Thorn is inquiring after

Apollo — will you set him right, while I do the same for the

tablecloth?"

Her uncle looked from her sparkling eyes to the rather puzzled

expression of his guest's face.

"I was only asking your lovely niece," said Mr. Thorn, coming

down from his stilts, "how you liked this country life."

Dr. Quackenboss bowed, probably in approbation of the epithet.

"Well, Sir, what information did she give you on the subject?"

"Left me in the dark, Sir, with a vague hope that you would

enlighten me."

"I trust Mr. Rossitur can give a favourable report?" said the

doctor, benignly.

But Mr. Rossitur's frowning brow looked very little like it.

"What do you say to our country life, Sir?"

"It's a confounded life, Sir," said Mr. Rossitur, taking a

pamphlet from the table to fold and twist as he spoke; "it is

a confounded life; for the head and the hands must either live

separate, or the head must do no other work but wait upon the

hands. It is an alternative of loss and waste, Sir."

"The alternative seems to be of — a — limited application,"

said the doctor, as Fleda, having found that Hugh and Barby

had been beforehand with her, now came back to the company. "I

am sure this lady would not give such a testimony."

"About what?" said Fleda, colouring under the fire of so many

eyes.

"The blighting influence of Ceres' sceptre," said Mr. Thorn.

"This country life," said her uncle — "do you like it, Fleda?"

"You know, uncle," said she, cheerfully, "I was always of the

old Douglass's mind — I like better to hear the lark sing than

the mouse squeak."

"Is that one of Earl Douglass's sayings," said the doctor.

"Yes, Sir," said Fleda with quivering lips, "but not the one

you know — an older man."

"Ah!" said the doctor, intelligently, "Mr. Rossitur — speaking

of hands — I have employed the Irish very much of late years —

they are as good as one can have, if you do not want a head."

"That is to say — if you have a head," said Thorn.

"Exactly!" said the doctor, all abroad — "and when there are

not too many of them together. I had enough of that, Sir, some

years ago, when a multitude of them were employed on the

public works. The Irish were in a state of mutilation, Sir,

all through the country."

"Ah!" said Thorn, "had the military been at work upon them?"

"No, Sir, but I wish they had, I am sure; it would have been

for the peace of the town. There were hundreds of them. We

were in want of an army."

"Of surgeons, I should think," said Thorn.

Fleda saw the doctor's dubious air and her uncle's compressed

lips; and, commanding herself, with even a look of something

like displeasure, she quitted her seat by Mr. Thorn, and

called the doctor to the window to look at a cluster of rose

acacias just then in their glory. He admired, and she

expatiated, till she hoped everybody but herself had forgotten

what they had been talking about. But they had no sooner

returned to their seats than Thorn began again.

"The Irish in your town are not in the same mutilated state

now, I suppose, Sir?"

"No, Sir, no," said the doctor: "there are much fewer of them

to break each other's bones. It was all among themselves,

Sir."

"The country is full of foreigners," said Mr. Rossitur, with

praiseworthy gravity.

"Yes, Sir," said Dr. Quackenboss, thoughtfully, "we shall have

none of our ancestors left in a short time, if they go on as

they are doing."

Fleda was beaten from the field, and, rushing into the

breakfast-room, astonished Hugh by seizing hold of him and

indulging in a most prolonged and unbounded laugh. She did not

show herself again till the company came in to supper; but

then she was found as grave as Minerva. She devoted herself

particularly to the care and entertainment of Dr. Quackenboss

till he took leave; nor could Thorn get another chance to talk

to her through all the evening.

When he and Rossitur were at last in their rooms, Fleda told

her story.

"You don't know how pleasant it was, aunt Lucy — how much I

enjoyed it — seeing and talking to somebody again. Mrs. Evelyn

was so very kind."

"I a very glad, my darling," said Mrs. Rossitur, stroking away

the hair from the forehead that was bent down towards her — "I

am glad you had it to-day, and I am glad you will have it

again to-morrow."

"You will have it too, aunt Lucy. Mrs. Evelyn will be here in

the morning — she said so."

"I shall not see her."

"Why? Now, aunt Lucy! — you will."

"I have nothing in the world to see her in — I cannot."

"You have this?"

"For the morning? A rich French silk? — It would be absurd.

No, no — it would be better to wear my old merino than that."

"But you will have to dress in the morning for Mr. Thorn? — he

will be here to breakfast."

"I shall not come down to breakfast. Don't look so, love! — I

can't help it."

"Why was that calico got for me and not for you!" said Fleda,

bitterly.

"A sixpenny calico!" said Mrs. Rossitur, smiling — "it would

be hard if you could not have so much as that, love."

"And you will not see Mrs. Evelyn and her daughters at all! —

and I was thinking that it would do you so much good!"

Mrs. Rossitur drew her face a little nearer and kissed it,

over and over.

"It will do you good, my darling — that is what I care for

much more."

"It will not do me half as much," said Fleda, sighing.

Her spirits were in their old place again; no more a tiptoe

to-night. The short light of pleasure was overcast. She went

to bed feeling very quiet indeed; and received Mrs. Evelyn and

excused her aunt the next day, almost wishing the lady had not

been as good as her word. But though in the same mood she set

off with her to drive to Montepoole, it could not stand the

bright influences with which she found herself surrounded. She

came home again at night with dancing spirits.

It was some days before Captain Rossitur began at all to

comprehend the change which had come upon his family. One

morning Fleda and Hugh, having finished their morning's work,

were in the breakfast-room waiting for the rest of the family,

when Charlton made his appearance, with the cloud on his brow

which had been lately gathering.

"Where is the paper?" said he. "I haven't seen a paper since I

have been here."

"You mustn't expect to find Mexican luxuries in Queechy,

Captain Rossitur," said Fleda pleasantly. — "Look at these

roses, and don't ask me for papers!"

He did look a minute at the dish of flowers she was arranging

for the breakfast table, and at the rival freshness and

sweetness of the face that hung over them.

"You don't mean to say you live without a paper?"

"Well, it's astonishing how many things people can live

without," said Fleda, rather dreamily, intent upon settling an

uneasy rose that would topple over.

"I wish you'd answer me really," said Charlton. "Don't you

take a paper here?"

"We would take one, thankfully, if it would be so good as to

come; but, seriously, Charlton, we haven't any," she said,

changing her tone.

"And have you done without one all through the war?"

"No — we used to borrow one from a kind neighbour once in a

while, to make sure, as Mr. Thorn says, that you had not

bartered an arm for a shoulder-knot."

"You never looked to see whether I was killed in the

meanwhile, I suppose?"

"No — never," said Fleda, gravely, as she took her place on a

low seat in the corner — "I always knew you were safe before I

touched the paper."

"What do you mean?"

"I am not an enemy, Charlton," said Fleda, laughing. "I mean

that I used to make aunt Miriam look over the accounts before

I did."

Charlton walked up and down the room for a little while in

sullen silence; and then brought up before Fleda.

"What are you doing?"

Fleda looked up — a glance that, as sweetly and brightly as

possible, half asked, half bade him be silent and ask no

questions.

"What are you doing?" he repeated.

"I am putting a patch on my shoe."

His look expressed more indignation than anything else.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say," said Fleda, going on with her work.

"What in the name of all the cobblers in the land do you do it

for?"

"Because I prefer it to having a hole in my shoe; which would

give me the additional trouble of mending my stockings."

Charlton muttered an impatient sentence, of which Fleda only

understood that "the devil" was in it, and then desired to

know if whole shoes would not answer the purpose as well as

either holes or patches.

"Quite — if I had them," said Fleda, giving him another

glance, which, with all its gravity and sweetness, carried

also a little gentle reproach.

"But do you know," said he, after standing still a minute

looking at her, "that any cobbler in the country would do what

you are doing much better for sixpence?"

"I am quite aware of that," said Fleda, stitching away.

"Your hands are not strong enough for that work."

Fleda again smiled at him, in the very dint of giving a hard

push to her needle — a smile that would have witched him into

good humour if he had not been determinately in a cloud, and

proof against everything. It only admonished him that he could

not safely remain in the region of sunbeams; and he walked up

and down the room furiously again. The sudden ceasing of his

footsteps presently made her look up.

"What have you got there? — Oh, Charlton, don't! — please put

that down! — I didn't know I had left them there. They were a

little wet, and I laid them on the chair to dry."

"What do you call this?" said he, not minding her request.

"They are only my gardening gloves — I thought I had put them

away."

"Gloves!" said he, pulling at them disdainfully — "why, here

are two — one within the other — what's that for?"

"It's an old-fashioned way of mending matters — two friends

covering each other's deficiencies. The inner pair are too

thin alone, and the outer ones have holes that are past

cobbling."

"Are we going to have any breakfast to-day?" said he, flinging

the gloves down. "You are very late!"

"No," said Fleda, quietly — "it is not time for aunt Lucy to

be down yet."

"Don't you have breakfast before nine o'clock?"

"Yes — by half-past eight generally."

"Strange way of getting along on a farm! Well, I can't wait, —

I promised Thorn I would meet him this morning — Barby! I wish

you would bring me my boots!" —

Fleda made two springs, — one to touch Charlton's mouth, the

other to close the door of communication with the kitchen.

"Well! — what is the matter? — can't I have them?"

"Yes, yes, but ask me for what you want. You mustn't call upon

Barby in that fashion."

"Why not? Is she too good to be spoken to? What is she in the

kitchen for?"

"She wouldn't be in the kitchen long if we were to speak to

her in that way," said Fleda. "I suppose she would as soon put

your boots on for you as fetch and carry them. I'll see about

it."

"It seems to me Fleda rules the house," remarked Captain

Rossitur, when she had left the room.

"Well, who should rule it?" said Hugh.

"Not she!"

"I don't think she does," said Hugh; "but if she did, I am

sure it could not be in better hands."

"It shouldn't be in her hands at all. But I have noticed since

I have been here that she takes the arrangement of almost

everything. My mother seems to have nothing to do in her own

family."

"I wonder what the family or anybody in it would do without

Fleda!" said Hugh, his gentle eyes quite firing with

indignation. "You had better know more before you speak,

Charlton."

"What is there for me to know?"

"Fleda does everything."

"So I say — and that is what I don't like."

"How little you know what you are talking about!" said Hugh.

"I can tell you she is the life of the house, almost

literally, we should have had little enough to live upon this

summer if it had not been for her."

"What do you mean?" — impatiently enough.

"Fleda — if it had not been for her gardening and management —

she has taken care of the garden these two years, and sold I

can't tell you how much from it. Mr. Sweet, the hotelman at

the Pool, takes all we can give him."

"How much does her 'taking care of the garden' amount to?"

"It amounts to all the planting, and nearly all the other

work, after the first digging — by far the greater part of

it."

Charlton walked up and down a few turns in most unsatisfied

silence.

"How does she get the things to Montepoole?"

"I take them."

"You! — When?"

"I ride with them there before breakfast. Fleda is up very

early to gather them."

"You have not been there this morning?"

"Yes."

"With what?"

"Pease and strawberries."

"And Fleda picked them?"

"Yes — with some help from Barby and me."

"That glove of hers was wringing wet."

"Yes, with the pea-vines, and strawberries too; you know they

get so loaded with dew. Oh, Fleda gets more than her gloves

wet. But she does not mind anything she does for father and

mother."

"Humph! and does she get enough when all is done to pay for

the trouble?"

"I don't know," said Hugh, rather sadly. "_She_ thinks so. It is

no trifle."

"Which, the pay or the trouble?"

"Both. But I meant the pay. Why, she made ten dollars last

year from the asparagus beds alone, and I don't know how much

more this year."

"Ten dollars! — The devil!"

"Why?"

"Have you come to counting your dollars by the tens?"

"We have counted our sixpences so a good while," said Hugh,

quietly.

Charlton strode about the room again in much perturbation.

Then came in Fleda, looking as bright as if dollars had been

counted by the thousand, and bearing his boots.

"What on earth did you do that for?" said he, angrily. "I

could have gone for them myself."

"No harm done," said Fleda, lightly; "only I have got

something else instead of the thanks I expected."

"I can't conceive," said he, sitting down and sulkily drawing

on his foot-gear, "why this piece of punctiliousness should

have made any more difficulty about bringing me my boots than

about blacking them."

A sly glance of intelligence, which Charlton was quick enough

to detect, passed between Fleda and Hugh. His eye carried its

question from one to the other. Fleda's gravity gave way.

"Don't look at me so, Charlton," said she, laughing; "I can't

help it, you are so excessively comical! — I recommend that

you go out upon the grass-plat before the door and turn round

two or three times.

"Will you have the goodness to explain yourself? Who did black

these boots?"

"Never pry into the secrets of families," said Fleda. "Hugh

and I have a couple of convenient little fairies in our

service that do things _unknownst_."

"I blacked them, Charlton," said Hugh.

Captain Rossitur gave his slippers a fling that carried them

clean into the corner of the room.

"I will see," he said, rising, "whether some other service

cannot be had more satisfactory than that of fairies!"

"Now, Charlton," said Fleda, with a sudden change of manner,

corning to him and laying her hand most gently on his arm,

"please don't speak about these things before uncle Rolf or

your mother — please do not, Charlton. It would only do a

great deal of harm, and do no good."

She looked up in his face, but he would not meet her pleading

eye, and shook off her hand.

"I don't need to be instructed how to speak to my father and

mother; and I am not one of the household that has submitted

itself to your direction."

Fleda sat down on her bench and was quiet, but with a lip that

trembled a little and eyes that let fall one or two witnesses

against him. Charlton did not see them, and he knew better

than to meet Hugh's look of reproach. But for all that, there

was a certain consciousness that hung about the neck of his

purpose and kept it down in spite of him; and it was not till

breakfast was half over that his ill-humour could make head

against this gentle thwarting and cast it off. For so long the

meal was excessively dull; Hugh and Fleda had their own

thoughts; Charlton was biting his resolution into every slice

of bread-and-butter that occupied him; and Mr. Rossitur's face

looked like anything but encouraging an inquiry into his

affairs. Since his son's arrival he had been most uncommonly

gloomy; and Mrs. Rossitur's face was never in sunshine when

his was in shade.

"You'll have a warm day of it at the mill, Hugh," said Fleda,

by way of saying something to break the dismal monotony of

knives and forks.

"Does that mill make much?" suddenly inquired Charlton.

"It has made a new bridge to the brook, literally," said Fleda

gaily; "for it has sawn out the boards; and you know you

mustn't speak evil of what carries you over the water."

"Does that mill pay for the working?' said Charlton, turning

with the dryest disregard from her interference, and

addressing himself determinately to his father.

"What do you mean? It does not work gratuitously," answered

Mr. Rossitur, with at least equal dryness.

"But, I mean, are the profits of it enough to pay for the loss

of Hugh's time?"

"If Hugh judges they are not, he is at liberty to let it

alone."

"My time is not lost," said Hugh; "I' don't know what I should

do with it."

"I don't know what we should do without the mill," said Mrs.

Rossitur.

That gave Charlton an unlucky opening.

"Has the prospect of farming disappointed you, father?"

"What is the prospect of your company?" said Mr. Rossitur,

swallowing half an egg before he replied.

"A very limited prospect!" said Charlton, "if you mean the one

that went with me. Not a fifth part of them left."

"What have you done with them?"

"Showed them where the balls were flying, Sir, and did my best

to show them the thickest of it."

"Is it necessary to show it to us too?" said Fleda.

"I believe there are not twenty living that followed me into

Mexico," he went on, as if he had not heard her.

"Was all that havoc made in one engagement?" said Mrs.

Rossitur, whose cheek had turned pale.

"Yes, mother; in the course of a few minutes."

"I wonder what would pay for _that_ loss," said Fleda,

indignantly.

"Why, the point was gained! and it did not signify what the

cost was, so we did that. My poor boys were a small part of

it."

"What point do you mean?"

"I mean the point we had in view, which was taking the place."

"And what was the advantage of gaining the place?"

"Pshaw! the advantage of doing one's duty."

"But what made it duty?" said Hugh.

"Orders."

"I grant you," said Fleda; "I understand that — but bear with

me, Charlton — what was the advantage to the army or the

country?"

"The advantage of great honour if we succeeded, and avoiding

the shame of failure."

"Is that all?" said Hugh.

"All!" said Charlton.

"Glory must be a precious thing, when other men's lives are so

cheap to buy it," said Fleda.

"We did not risk theirs without our own," said Charlton,

colouring.

"No; but still theirs were risked for you."

"Not at all; why, this is absurd! you are saying that the

whole war was for nothing."

"What better than nothing was the end of it? We paid Mexico

for the territory she yielded to us, didn't we, uncle Rolf?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Twenty millions, I believe."

"And what do you suppose the war has cost?"

"Hum — I don't know — a hundred."

"A hundred million! Besides — how much besides! And don't you

suppose, uncle Rolf, that for half of that sum Mexico would

have sold us peaceably what she did in the end?"

"It is possible — I think it is very likely."

"What was the fruit of the war, Captain Rossitur?"

"Why, a great deal of honour to the army and the nation at

large."

"Honour again! But granting that the army gained it, which

they certainly did, for one I do not feel very proud of the

nation's share."

"Why, they are one," said Charlton, impatiently.

"In an unjust war?"

"It was _not_ an unjust war."

"That's what you call a knock-downer," said Fleda, laughing.

"But I confess myself so simple as to have agreed with Seth

Plumfield, when I heard him and Lucas disputing about it last

winter, that it was a shame to a great and strong nation like

ours to display its might in crushing a weak one."

"But they drew it upon themselves. _They_ began hostilities."

"There is a diversity of opinion about that."

"Not in heads that have two grains of information."

"I beg your pardon. Mrs. Evelyn and Judge Sensible were

talking over that very question the other day at Montepoole;

and he made it quite clear to my mind that we were the

aggressors."

"Judge Sensible is a fool!" said Mr. Rossitur.

"Very well!" said Fleda, laughing; — "but as I do not wish to

be comprehended in the same class, will you show me how he was

wrong, uncle?"

This drew on a discussion of some length, to which Fleda

listened with profound attention, long after her aunt had

ceased to listen at all, and Hugh was thoughtful, and Charlton

disgusted. At the end of it, Mr. Rossitur left the table and

the room, and Fleda subsiding, turned to her cold coffee-cup.

"I didn't know you ever cared anything about politics before,"

said Hugh.

"Didn't you?" said Fleda, smiling. "You do me injustice."

Their eyes met for a second, with a most appreciating smile on

his part; and then he too went off to his work. There was a

few minutes' silent pause after that.

"Mother," said Charlton, looking up and bursting forth, "what

is all this about the mill and the farm? — is not the farm

doing well?"

"I am afraid not very well," said Mrs. Rossitur, gently.

"What is the difficulty?"

"Why, your father has let it to a man by the name of

Didenhover, and I am afraid he is not faithful; it does not

seem to bring us in what it ought."

"What did he do that for?"

"He was wearied with the annoyances he had to endure before,

and thought it would be better and more profitable to have

somebody else take the whole charge and management. He did not

know Didenhover's character at the time."

"Engaged him without knowing him!"

Fleda was the only third party present, and Charlton

unwittingly allowing himself to meet her eye, received a look

of keen displeasure that he was not prepared for.

"That is not like him," he said, in a much moderated tone.

"But you must be changed too, mother, or you would not endure

such anomalous service in your kitchen."

"There are a great many changes, dear Charlton," said his

mother, looking at him with such a face of sorrowful sweetness

and patience that his mouth was stopped. Fleda left the room.

"And have you really nothing to depend upon but that child's

strawberries and Hugh's wood-saw?" he said, in the tone he

ought to have used from the beginning.

"Little else."

Charlton stifled two or three sentences that rose to his lips,

and began to walk up and down the room again. His mother sat

musing by the tea-board still, softly clinking her spoon

against the edge of her tea-cup.

"She has grown up very pretty," he remarked, after a pause.

"Pretty!" said Mrs. Rossitur.

"Why?"

"No one that has seen much of Fleda would ever describe her by

that name."

Charlton had the candour to think he had seen something of her

that morning.

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Rossitur, sadly, " I can't bear to

think of her spending her life as she is doing — wearing

herself out, I know, sometimes — and buried alive."

"Buried!" said Charlton, in his turn.

"Yes; without any of the advantages and opportunities she

ought to have. I can't bear to think of it. And yet how should

I ever live without her" said Mrs. Rossitur, leaning her lace

upon her hands. "And if she were known she would not be mine

long. But It grieves me to have her go without her music, that

she is so fond of, and the book she wants; she and Hugh have

gone from end to end of every volume there is in the house, I

believe, in every language, except Greek."

"Well, she looks pretty happy and contented, mother."

"I don't know!'" said Mrs.. Rossitur, shaking her head.

"Isn't she happy?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Rossitur, again; "she has a spirit

that is happy in doing her duty, or anything for those she

loves; but I see her sometimes wearing a look that pains me

exceedingly. I am afraid the way she lives, and the changes in

our affairs, have worn upon her more than we know of — she

feels doubly everything that touches me, or Hugh, or your

father. She is a gentle spirit!" —

"She seems to me not to want character," said Charlton.

"Character! I don't know who has so much. She has at least

fifty times as much character as I have. And energy. She is

admirable at managing people — she knows how to influence them

somehow, so that everybody does what she wants."

"And who influences her?" said Charlton.

"Who influences her? Everybody that she loves. Who has the

most influence over her, do you mean? I am sure I don't know —

Hugh, if anybody — but she is rather the moving spirit of the

household."

Captain Rossitur resolved that he would be an exception to her

rule.

He forgot, however, for some reason or other, to sound his

father any more on the subject of mismanagement. His thoughts,

indeed, were more pleasantly taken up.