"With your leave, Sir, an' there were no more men living upon
the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George."
EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR.
October had come, and a fair season and a fine harvest, had
enabled Fleda to ease her mind by sending a good remittance to
Dr. Gregory. The family were still living upon her and Hugh's
energies. Mr. Rossitur talked of coming home, that was all.
It sometimes happened that a pause in the urgency of business
permitted Hugh to take a day's holiday. One of these falling
soon after the frosts had opened the burrs of the chestnut-
trees, and the shells of the hickories, Fleda seized upon it
for a nutting frolic. They took Philetus, and went up to the
fine group of trees on the mountain, the most difficult to
reach, and the best worth reaching of all their nut wood. The
sport was very fine; and after spoiling the trees, Philetus
was left to "shuck" and bring home a load of the fruit, while
Fleda and Hugh took their way slowly down the mountain. She
stopped him, as usual, on the old look-out place. The leaves
were just then in their richest colouring, and the October
sky, in its strong vitality, seemed to fill all inanimate
nature with the breath of life. If ever, then on that day, to
the fancy, "the little hills rejoiced on every side." The
woods stood thick with honours, and earth lay smiling under
the tokens of the summer's harvest, and the promise for the
coming year; and the wind came in gusts over the lower country
and up the hill-side, with a hearty good-will that blew away
all vapours, physical and mental, from its path, bidding
everything follow its example and be up and doing. Fleda drew
a long breath or two that seemed to recognise its freshening
power.
"How long it seems," she said "how very long since I was
here with Mr. Carleton; just nine years ago. How changed
everything is! I was a little child then. It seems such an age
ago!"
"It is very odd he didn't come to see us," said Hugh.
"He did don't you know? the very next day after we heard
he was here when, most unluckily, I was up at aunt
Miriam's."
"I should think he might have come again, considering what
friends you used to be."
"I dare say he would, if he had not left Montepoole so soon.
But, dear Hugh, I was a mere child how could he remember me
much?"
"You remember him," said Hugh.
"Ah, but I have good reason. Besides, I never forget anything.
I would have given a great deal to see him if I had it."
"I wish the Evelyns had staid longer," said Hugh. "I think you
have wanted something to brighten you up. They did you a great
deal of good last year. I am afraid all this taking care of
Philetus and Earl Douglass is too much for you."
Fleda gave him a very bright smile, half affection, half fun.
"Don't you admire my management?" said she. "Because I do.
Philetus is firmly persuaded that he is an invaluable
assistant to me in the mystery of gardening; and the origin of
Earl Douglass's new ideas is so enveloped in mist, that he
does not himself know where they come from. It was rich to
hear him the other day descanting to Lucas upon the evil
effects of earthing up corn, and the advantages of curing hay
in cocks, as to both which matters Lucas is a thorough
unbeliever, and Earl was a year ago."
"But that doesn't hinder your looking pale and thin, and a
great deal soberer than I like to see you," said Hugh. "You
want a change, I know. I don't know how you are to get it. I
wish they would send for you to New York again."
"I don't know that I should want to go, if they did," said
Fleda. "They don't raise my spirits, Hugh. I am amused
sometimes I can't help that but such excessive gaiety
rather makes me shrink within myself; I am, too, out of tone
with it. I never feel more absolutely quiet than sometimes
when I am laughing at Constance Evelyn's mad sallies and
sometimes I cannot laugh at them. I do not know what they must
think of me; it is what they can have no means of
understanding."
"I wish you didn't understand it, either, Fleda."
"But you shouldn't say that. I am happier than they are, now,
Hugh now that you are better with all their means of
happiness. They know nothing of our quiet enjoyments; they
must live in a whirl, or they would think they are not living
at all; and I do not believe that all New York can give them
the real pleasure that I have in such a day as this. They
would see almost nothing in all this beauty that my eyes
'drink in,' as Cowper says; and they would be certain to
quarrel with the wind, that to me is like the shake of an old
friend's hand. Delicious!" said Fleda, as the wind rewarded
this eulogium with a very hearty shake indeed.
"I believe you would make friends with everything, Fleda, said
Hugh, laughing.
"The wind is always that to me," said Fleda; "not always in
such a cheerful mood as to-day, though. It talks to me often
of a thousand old-time things, and sighs over them with me, a
most sympathizing friend! but to-day he invites me to a waltz
Come!"
And pulling Hugh after her, away she went down the rocky path,
with a step too light to care for the stones; the little feet
capering down the mountain with a disdain of the ground that
made Hugh smile to see her; and eyes dancing for company, till
they reached the lower woodland.
"A most spirited waltz!" said Hugh.
"And a most slack partner. Why didn't you keep me company?"
"I never was made for waltzing," said Hugh, shaking his head.
"Not to the tune of the north wind? That has done me good,
Hugh."
"So I should judge, by your cheeks."
"Poverty need not always make people poor," said Fleda,
talking breath and his arm together. "You and I are rich,
Hugh."
"And our riches cannot take to themselves wings and fly away,"
said Hugh.
"No, but besides those riches, there are the pleasures of the
eye and the mind, that one may enjoy everywhere everywhere
in the country at least unless poverty bear one down very
hard; and they are some of the purest and most satisfying of
any. Oh, the blessing of a good education! how it makes one
independent of circumstances!"
"And circumstances are education, too," said Hugh, smiling. "I
dare say we should not appreciate our mountains and woods so
well, if we had had our old plenty of everything else."
"I always loved them," said Fleda. "But what good company they
have been to us for years past, Hugh! to me especially; I
have more reason to love them."
They walked on quietly and soberly to the brow of the table-
land, where they parted; Hugh being obliged to go home, and
Fleda wishing to pay a visit to her aunt Miriam.
She turned off alone to take the way to the high road, and
went softly on, no longer, certainly, in the momentary spirits
with which she had shaken hands with the wind, and skipped
down the mountain; but feeling, and thankful that she felt, a
cheerful patience to tread the dusty highway of life.
The old lady had been rather ailing, and from one or two
expressions she had let fall, Fleda could not help thinking
that she looked upon her ailments with a much more serious eye
than anybody else thought was called for. It did not, however,
appear to-day. She was not worse, and Fleda's slight anxious
feeling could find nothing to justify it, if it were not the
very calm and quietly happy face and manner of the old lady;
and that, if it had something to alarm, did much more to
soothe. Fleda had sat with her a long time, patience and
cheerfulness all the while unconsciously growing in her
company; when, catching up her bonnet with a sudden haste very
unlike her usual collectedness of manner, Fleda kissed her
aunt and was rushing away.
"But stop! where are you going, Fleda?"
"Home, aunt Miriam; I must, don't keep me."
"But what are you going that way for? you can't go home that
way?"
"Yes, I can."
"How?"
"I can cross the blackberry hill behind the barn, and then
over the east hill, and then there's nothing but the water-
cress meadow."
"I sha'n't let you go that way alone; sit down and tell me
what you mean what is this desperate hurry?"
But, with equal precipitation, Fleda had cast her bonnet out
of sight behind the table, and the next moment turned, with
the utmost possible quietness, to shake hands with Mr. Olmney.
Aunt Miriam had presence of mind enough to make no remark, and
receive the young gentleman with her usual dignity and
kindness.
He stayed some time, but Fleda's hurry seemed to have forsaken
her. She had seized upon an interminable long gray stocking
her aunt was knitting, and sat in the corner working at it
most diligently, without raising her eyes unless spoken to.
"Do you give yourself no rest, at home or abroad, Miss Fleda?"
said the gentleman.
"Put that stocking down, Fleda," said her aunt; "it is in no
hurry."
"I like to do it, aunt Miriam."
But she felt, with warming cheeks, that she did not like to do
it with two people sitting still and looking at her. The
gentleman presently rose.
"Don't go till we have had tea, Mr. Olmney," said Mrs.
Plumfield.
"Thank you, Ma'am; I cannot stay, I believe, unless Miss Fleda
will let me take care of her down the hill by and by."
"Thank you, Mr. Olmney," said Fleda, "but I am not going home
before night, unless they send for me."
"I am afraid," said he, looking at her, "that the agricultural
turn has proved an overmatch for your energies."
"The farm don't complain of me, does it?" said Fleda, looking
up at him with a comic, grave expression of countenance.
"No," said he, laughing, "certainly not; but, if you will
forgive me for saying so, I think you complain of it, tacitly
and that will raise a good many complaints in other
quarters, if you do not take care of yourself."
He shook hands and left them; and Mrs. Plumfield sat silently
looking at Fleda, who, on her part, looked at nothing but the
gray stocking.
"What is all this, Fleda?"
"What is what, aunt Miriam?" said Fleda, picking up a stitch
with desperate diligence.
"Why did you want to run away from Mr. Olmney?"
"I didn't wish to be delayed, I wanted to get home."
"Then, why wouldn't you let him go home with you?"
"I liked better to go alone, aunt Miriam."
"Don't you like him, Fleda?"
"Certainly, aunt Miriam; very much."
"I think he likes you Fleda," said her aunt, smiling.
"I am very sorry for it," said Fleda, with great gravity.
Mrs. Plumfield looked at her for a few minutes in silence, and
then said
"Fleda, love, come over here and sit by me, and tell me what
you mean. Why are you sorry? It has given me a great deal of
pleasure to think of it."
But Fleda did not budge from her seat or her stocking, and
seemed tongue-tied. Mrs. Plumfield pressed for an answer.
"Because, aunt Miriam," said Fleda, with the prettiest red
cheeks in the world, but speaking very clearly and steadily,
"my liking only goes to a point which, I am afraid, will not
satisfy either him or you."
"But why? it will go further."
"No, Ma'am."
"Why not? why do you say so?"
"Because I must, if you ask me."
"But what can be more excellent and estimable, Fleda? who
could be more worth liking? I should have thought he would
just please you. He is one of the most lovely young men I have
ever seen."
"Dear aunt Miriam," said Fleda, looking up beseechingly, "why
should we talk about it?"
"Because I want to understand you, Fleda, and to be sure that
you understand yourself."
"I do," said Fleda, quietly, and with a quivering lip.
"What is there that you dislike about Mr. Olmney?"
"Nothing in the world, aunt Miriam."
"Then, what is the reason you cannot like him enough?"
"Because, aunt Miriam," said Fleda, speaking in desperation,
"there isn't enough of him. He is very good and excellent in
every way, nobody feels that more than I do; I don't want to
say a word against him, but I do not think he has a very
strong mind, and he isn't cultivated enough."
"But you cannot have everything, Fleda."
"No, Ma'am, I don't expect it."
"I am afraid you have set up too high a standard for
yourself," said Mrs. Plumfield, looking rather troubled.
"I don't think that is possible, aunt Miriam."
"But I am afraid it will prevent your ever liking anybody."
"It will not prevent my liking the friends I have already; it
may prevent my leaving them for somebody else," said Fleda,
with a gravity that was touching in its expression.
"But Mr. Olmney is sensible, and well educated."
"Yes, but his tastes are not. He could not at all enter into a
great many things that give me the most pleasure. I do not
think he quite understands above half of what I say to him."
"Are you sure? I know he admires you, Fleda."
"Ah, but that is only half enough, you see, aunt Miriam,
unless I could admire him too."
Mrs. Plumfield looked at her in some difficulty; Mr. Olmney
was not the only one, clearly, whose powers of comprehension
were not equal to the subject.
"Fleda," said her aunt, inquiringly, "is there anybody else
that has put Mr. Olmney out of your head?"
"Nobody in the world!" exclaimed Fleda, with a frank look and
tone of astonishment at the question, and cheeks colouring as
promptly. "How could you ask? but he never was in my head,
aunt Miriam."
"Mr. Thorn?" said Mrs. Plumfield.
"Mr. Thorn!" said Fleda, indignantly. "Don't you know me
better than that, aunt Miriam? But you do not know him."
"I believe I know you, dear Fleda; but I heard he had paid you
a great deal of attention last year; and you would not have
been the first unsuspecting nature that has been mistaken."
Fleda was silent, flushed, and disturbed; and Mrs. Plumfield
was silent and meditating; when Hugh came in. He came to fetch
Fleda home. Dr. Gregory had arrived. In haste again, Fleda
sought her bonnet, and exchanging a more than usually wistful
and affectionate kiss and embrace with her aunt, set off with
Hugh down the hill.
Hugh had a great deal to say to her all the way home, of which
Fleda's ears alone took the benefit, for her understanding
received none of it; and when she at last came into the
breakfast-room where the doctor was sitting, the fact of his
being there was the only one which had entered her mind.
"Here she is, I declare!" said the doctor, holding her back to
look at her after the first greetings had passed. "I'll be
hanged if you aint handsome. Now, what's the use of pinking
your cheeks any more at that, as if you didn't know it before?
eh?"
"I will always do my best to deserve your good opinion, Sir,"
said Fleda, laughing.
"Well, sit down now," said he, shaking his head, "and pour me
out a cup of tea your mother can't make it right."
And sipping his tea for some time, the old doctor sat
listening to Mrs. Rossitur, and eating bread and butter,
saying little, but casting a very frequent glance at the
figure opposite him, behind the tea-board.
"I am afraid," said he, after a while, "that your care for my
good opinion wont outlast an occasion. Is _that_ the way you
look for every day?"
The colour came with the smile; but the old doctor looked at
her in a way that made the tears come too. He turned his eyes
to Mrs. Rossitur for an explanation.
"She is well," said Mrs. Rossitur, fondly "she has been very
well except her old headaches now and then; I think she has
grown rather thin, lately."
"Thin!" said the old doctor "etherealized to a mere abstract
of herself; only that is a very bad figure, for an abstract
should have all the bone and muscle of the subject; and I
should say you had little left but pure spirit. You are the
best proof I ever saw of the principle of the homeopaths I
see now, that though a little corn may fatten a man, a great
deal may be the death of him."
"But I have tried it both ways, uncle Orrin," said Fleda,
laughing. "I ought to be a happy medium between plethora and
starvation. I am pretty substantial, what there is of me."
"Substantial!" said the doctor; "you look as substantial a
personage as your old friend, the 'faire Una' just about.
Well, prepare yourself, gentle Saxon, to ride home with me the
day after to-morrow. I'll try a little humanizing regimen with
you."
"I don't think that is possible, uncle Orrin," said Fleda,
gently.
"We'll talk about the possibility afterwards at present, all
you have to do is to get ready. If you raise difficulties, you
will find me a very Hercules to clear them away I'm
substantial enough, I can tell you so it's just as well to
spare yourself and me the trouble."
"There are no difficulties," Mrs. Rossitur and Hugh said, both
at once.
"I knew there weren't. Put a pair or two of clean stockings in
your trunk that's all you want Mrs. Pritchard and I will
find the rest. There's the people in Fourteenth street want
you the first of November, and I want you all the time till
then, and longer too. Stop I've got a missive of some sort
here for you."
He foisted out of his breast-pocket a little package of notes
one from Mrs. Evelyn, and one from Florence, begging Fleda
to come to them at the time the doctor had named; the third
from Constance:
"MY DARLING LITTLE FLEDA,
"I am dying to see you so pack up and come down with Dr.
Gregory, if the least spark of regard for me is slumbering in
your breast. Mamma and Florence are writing to beg you but
though an insignificant member of the family, considering that
instead of being 'next to head', only little Edith prevents my
being at the less dignified end of this branch of the social
system, I could not prevail upon myself to let the
representations of my respected elders go unsupported by mine
especially as I felt persuaded of the superior efficacy of
the motives I had it in my power to present to your truly
philanthropical mind.
"I am in a state of mind that baffles description Mr.
Carleton is going home!
"I have not worn ear-rings in my ears for a fortnight; my
personal appearance is become a matter of indifference to me;
any description of mental exertion is excruciating; I sit
constantly listening for the ringing of the door-bell, and
when it sounds, I rush frantically to the head of the
staircase, and look over to see who it is; the mere sight of
pen and ink excites delirious ideas judge what I suffer in
writing to you.
"To make the matter worse (if it could be), I have been
informed privately, that he is going home to crown at the
altar of Hymen an old attachment to one of the loveliest of
all England's daughters. Conceive the complication of my
feelings!
"Nothing is left me but the resources of friendship so come,
darling Fleda, before a barrier of ice interposes itself
between my chilled heart and your sympathy.
"Mr. Thorn's state would move my pity if I were capable of
being moved by anything by this you will comprehend he is
returned. He has been informed by somebody, that there is a
wolf in sheep's clothing prowling about Queechy, and his head
is filled with the idea that you have fallen a victim, of
which, in my calmer moments, I have in vain endeavoured to
dispossess him. Every morning we are wakened up at an
unseasonable hour by a furious ringing at the door-bell Joe
Manton pulls off his nightcap, and slowly descending the
stairs, opens the door, and finds Mr. Thorn, who inquires
distractedly whether Miss Ringgan has arrived; and being
answered in the negative, gloomily walks off towards the East
river. The state of anxiety in which his mother is thereby
kept is rapidly depriving her of all her flesh but we have
directed Joe lately to reply, 'No, Sir, but she is expected'
upon which Mr. Thorn regularly smiles faintly, and rewards the
'fowling-piece' with a quarter dollar
"So make haste, dear Fleda, or I shall feel that we are acting
the part of innocent swindlers.
C.E."
There was but one voice at home on the point whether Fleda
should go. So she went.