CHAPTER XII.

COFFEE AND BUNS.

Wych Hazel sat watching her friend at her toilet.

'Prim,' she said, 'will _you_ be angry?'

'Me? Angry? No. About what?'

'Because,' said Hazel, 'your dress is not looped right. And I want to

alter it.'

Primrose laughed a little. 'What's the use?' she said. 'Next time it

will be wrong again. I can't reach the mystery of your loopings.

They _are_ loopings, but your dress is never in a bunch anywhere—

only falls into place in a lovely manner. I can't be like that, Hazel.'

Hazel's busy fingers were making changes.

'There!'—she said. 'Now it is a great deal more "beautiful." Do you

feel demoralized?'

'Hazel!' said Prim facing round,—'did you suppose I mean _that?_

When Dane likes everything to be as beautiful, and as _right_, every

way, as it can be? Look at his horses; and look at his own dress.'

'Ask him to look at your's,'—Hazel said with a laugh, and pushing

Prim gently before her into the next room.

Breakfast was well seasoned with talk, and the talkers lingered

over their meal, until Dr. Arthur declared that if the rest could stay

there all day, he could not; and so broke up the sitting.

'Miss Kennedy,' he said as they left the table, 'will you come to the

door a moment, before you put on your hat, and let me see your

eyes?'

'See my eyes!'—Hazel followed him doubtfully.

'Yes, I want to know how they look now they are open. How

nearly do you feel like yourself again?' he said, in the midst of a

somewhat close and earnest examination.

'I am perfectly well, thank you.'

' "Perfectly well."—For instance, did you thoroughly enjoy riding

on horseback yesterday?'

In spite of the evident good faith of the doctor's question, Wych

Hazel's cheeks gave such instant swift answer, that he was fain to

turn his eyes away.

'Not the October air,' he went on gravely, 'nor the coloured leaves,

nor the sunshine; nor even the exhilaration; but the _exercise_. How

is that, compared with a year ago?'

'I am not quite so strong for it, I think,' Hazel answered

unwillingly.

'_Im_perfectly well,' said Dr. Arthur. 'And for what are you most

inclined when the ride is over?'—but again the tell-tale face

warned him of dangerous ground.

'I have not been riding much'—she said deprecatingly. 'I am all out

of practice.'

'That goes for something. Always supposing that it always used to

be so when you happened to be "out of practice." '

Hazel was silent.

'These guardians!' said Dr. Arthur with some emphasis. 'I cannot

imagine what Mr. Falkirk was thinking of, when he kept you away

all summer, letting you wear yourself out!'

'He did not keep me. I kept myself,' said Wych Hazel.

'Did you! Suppose Mr. Falkirk had kept himself here?'

Rollo came to the conference at this point. He knew the reason of

his friend's care, for he had questioned him with relation to his

professional curiosity the evening before. But he had a clue to

Wych Hazel's three days' sleep, which Dr. Arthur could not have.

'Dr. Maryland, I thought you had more sense!' said the girl

impatiently. 'The last time you saw me, you said the only thing

was to let me have my own way.'

'Depends a little upon what direction the "way" takes,' said Dr.

Arthur. 'You don't want another sleep, do you?'

'Thank you,—I have had one.'

'Had one!' Dr. Arthur exclaimed. 'Not like that?'

'Not precisely like that,' said Hazel demurely. 'I have had several

different ones.'

Dr. Arthur laughed, and gave up his research.

'I begin to comprehend Mr. Falkirk!' he said. 'Dane, if you can

brave this lady's displeasure, I wish you would see that she does

not overtax herself for three months to come. Nor then, without my

permission.'

'But it is miles and miles from here to Chickaree!' said Miss Wych

as she ran in.

The inconvenience of having two guardians is, that when you have

got rid of one you have to face the other. And that other had to be

faced at the dinner table to-day. It was well that the twelve miles'

ride had not taken down Hazel's strength below the mischief point.

Rollo, it must be remarked, had been obliged to gallop back again

after very slight tarrying.

'Good evening, Miss Hazel,' said her elder guardian as he met her

in the dining room. 'I think I have not seen you since this time

yesterday.'

'A little later than this, sir. It was after dinner when we parted.'

'Quite so. Why did we not meet at breakfast? I was here. You were

not.'

'No, sir. That seems to have been the reason.'

'Why were you not at home?'

'Well, sir, I was in charge of my other authority, and could not get

home till he said the word.'

Mr. Falkirk surveyed his ward.

'Miss Hazel, your motions are usually determined by your own

will, and by nothing else,—in my experience.'

'My dear sir, if you remember your experience so imperfectly, it

cannot do you much good. Have I ever been allowed to go

anywhere alone?'

'Why did not Rollo bring you home in proper time?'—very shortly.

'First there was a man in trouble, and then a mill,' said Miss Wych,

composedly pouring water from her carafe. 'And so of course such

small affairs as women had to wait.'

'What was the matter?'

'The man met with an accident. The mill was set on fire. But both

were cared for satisfactorily—you need not be uneasy, Mr.

Falkirk. Two such energetics as Mr. Rollo and Dr. Arthur suffice

for all the common events of life.'

'And you,—where were you?'

'Miss Maryland and I, sir, were summarily bestowed at Mrs.

Boërresen's for safe keeping.'

'Who is Mrs. Boërresen?'

'My dear Mr. Falkirk!—if you only would stir about a little you

would learn so much!' said Wych Hazel. 'Mrs. Boërresen is a quite

remarkable person of foreign birth who lives near Morton Hollow.'

'Rollo's old nurse!' said Mr. Falkirk.

Wych Hazel bowed her head with extreme sedateness and went on

with her dinner. Mr. Falkirk made a gesture of extreme impatience.

'It seems to me, Miss Hazel, that your other guardian had time to

see you safe home, before allowing himself to be claimed by his

own affairs. If you had not discretion enough to come, he should

have had enough to bring you.'

'It needs valour as well as discretion to run away from one's

guardians,' said Miss Kennedy lifting her brows. 'I should have

been quite happy, sir, I am sure, to ride home alone.'

"Why didn't he bring you?' growled the elder guardian. 'Or why

didn't you make him bring you?'

'Yes, sir. Did you ever try to make Mr. Rollo do anything?'

'Quite out of order!' grumbled Mr. Falkirk; 'quite out of order!

Miss Hazel, it may need valour and discretion both, as you seem to

intimate, but I must beg that you will not have the like thing

happen again. If you cannot get home in proper time, I prefer that

you should not ride with him. I thought the fellow knew better!'

A glance, lightning-swift, from under the dark lashes fell upon Mr.

Falkirk's unconscious face. The girl waited a little before she made

reply.

'How am I to know beforehand, Mr. Falkirk? Mills are uncertain

things. And men. You are really sure of nothing but women in this

world.'

'What do you mean about a mill burning?' came very deep out of

Mr. Falkirk's throat.

'Some of the Charteris men set it on fire. The mill was not burned,

because watch had been kept; and at the first sign of fire all hands

went to work taking out cotton bales till the fire was reached.

There was something of a bonfire outside.'

'Hm. How much loss?'

'Not much. A thousand or two.'

Mr. Falkirk went no further into the subject, or into any other, till

the dessert had been taken away and he was fingering the nuts. Mr.

Falkirk took no dessert. And in the midst of cracking a hard nut,

effort availed to crack something else.

'Do we go to town this winter, Miss Hazel?'

'I have taken no thought whatever about the winter, sir.'

'Do you intend to stay here?'

'I thought we agreed, sir, to let the winter question wait?'

'I made no such agreement, Miss Hazel. On the contrary, if we let

the question wait, there will be no house to receive you when you

make up your mind to go.'

'Then we will wait.'

'No, Miss Hazel, if you please I will have your decision. If it

makes no difference to you, it makes some to me. Either here or

New York—but you must say which.'

'O if you put me in a corner, Mr. Falkirk, I shall stay here,' said

Wych Hazel.

'I suppose so. And now, Miss Hazel, will you kindly go a little

further and give me your reasons?'

'My dear Mr. Falkirk, you know we agreed long ago, that between

you and me reasons should be left to take care of themselves. Do

let the winter question rest!'

'I thought we agreed long ago that between you and me there

should be confidence,' said her guardian somewhat bitterly.

Now Mr. Falkirk was unreasonable, but it is not in the nature of

men to know when they are unreasonable. So making a great and

ill-adjusted effort with his nut-cracker, it slipped and did Mr.

Falkirk's finger some harm, instead of the nut. Mr. Falkirk dipped

his finger into cold water, wrapped it in his handkerchief, and went

off, disgusted with the world generally.

'We never did!' thought Hazel to herself. 'I plainly told him it could

not be.' But for all that she felt just a little bit troubled and hurt.

Four days of storms, during which Mr. Falkirk passed himself off

for sugar and salt, and even Mr. Rollo was somewhat hindered of

his pleasure, ended at last in a brilliant Saturday afternoon. But

though Wych Hazel did send some wistful glances out of the

window, she knew perfectly well there could be no coming from

Morton Hollow that night. Still, the feminine mind is good at

devices; and Miss Kennedy was not the first girl who (for the

nonce) has enacted the part of Mahomet. The mountain could not

stir,—therefore—

She thought it all out, sitting opposite to Mr. Falkirk at dinner; and

when that gentleman had taken his departure, the young mistress

of the house fell into a sudden state of activity; her last move being

to smother herself in a huge dingy cloak, akin to those worn by the

mill people in their improved condition.

'Look at me, Byo,' she said, pulling the rough hood up over her

silky curls.

'My dear,' began Mrs. Bywank,—'Miss Wych,—if Mr. Rollo

should see you!'—

'He would see nothing but my cloak.'

'My dear, I'm not so sure. He has wonderful sharp eyes. And you

don't wear your cloak like a mill girl.'

'Don't I look like a new hand?' said Hazel laughing.

'And if he _should_ find out, what would he think!' said Mrs.

Bywank.

'He would think you had a cold and couldn't come,' said Wych.

'There's the gig!'—and down she ran, slipping out unseen to join

Reo in the darkness.

Riding in an old gig was rather a new experience. The way was

still, starlight, and lonely, until they came out into the

neighbourhood of the mills. When the lights were visible, and a

certain confused buzz of still distant voices gave token of the

lively state of the population in the Hollow, Hazel and her faithful

attendant left the gig and went forward on foot.

The Charteris mills were silent and dark; the stir was ahead, where

a cluster of lights shewed brilliantly through the darkness; and

soon Wych Hazel and Reo found themselves in the midst of a

moving throng. A large shed, it was hardly better, open to the

street and to all comers, was the place of illumination, and the

centre of savoury odours which diffused themselves refreshingly

over the whole neighbourhood. Coffee, yes certainly Mr. Rollo's

coffee and hot buns were on hand there; and truly they began to be

on hand more literally among the crowd. Wych Hazel loitered and

looked and kept herself out of the lamp shine as well as she could.

Men and women were going in and coming out, eating and

drinking, talking and jesting; there was a pleasant let-up to

business in the Hollow; it looked like a fair, except that there was

no buying and selling other than the viands. There were long deal

tables in the shed, besieged by the applicants for buns and coffee,

and served by women stationed behind the tables. The crowd was

orderly, though very lively. Reo's curiosity and admiration were

immense; I think he would have tried the buns for himself, if he

had not been in close attendance upon his mistress. Women came

out from the shed guarding a pile of the hot buns in their hands;

others stood by the tables taking their supper; men came out and

lounged about talking and eating, with a mug in one hand and a

bun in the other. To anybody that knew Morton Hollow it was a

pleasant sight. It spoke of a pause from grinding care and

imbruting toil; a gleam of hope in the work-a-day routine. The

men were all more or less washed and brushed up; for changing

their dress there had been no time.

Hazel was afraid to linger too long or scan too closely; she passed

on to the mill with the throng, waited near the door until the reader

went in, passing so close that Hazel could have touched him. Then

she followed and took her place at the end of a form near the door.

That was policy.

The reading room was the huge bare apartment where the fire had

been laid, and tracked, a few nights before. The rafters still shewed

some smoke, and there was a less number of bales piled up at the

end of the room than when Hazel had seen it the first time. Lamps

hung now from the beams overhead, enough of them to give a fair

illumination; for as Rollo explained to her afterwards, he wanted to

have a view of his hearers. Their view of him was secured by a

well arranged group of burners in that quarter. The audience room

was as rough as the audience.

It was a strange experience for the little lady of Chickaree. In the

midst of all that crowd of mill hands, with their coarse dresses and

unkempt heads and head gear, she was in a part of the world very

far from her own. A still, respectful crowd they were, however.

Looking beyond and over them, to the circle of lights at the end of

the cotton bales, she could just see Dane's head, where he was

standing and speaking to some one; then presently he mounted

upon his rude rostrum and the light illumined his whole figure.

'He ain't keerful about shewin' hisself,'—said a drawling native

voice in Wych Hazel's neighbourhood. 'Hain't no objection to

folks' reck'nin' his inches.'

'He's baulder'n I'd loike to be—' said another voice, Wych Hazel

could not guess of what nationality.

'A can bear it,' answered a woman. 'I'd loike to see _you_ a standin'

up for your picter, Jim!'

'He don't mind!' said a brisk lass. 'You bet, he knows all about it.

Don't he, though!'

'Is he a married mon?'

'Na, he's got nobody to look arter him.'

'He don't mind _that_, ayther.'

'He's mighty onconsarned, anyhow,' said the first speaker. 'Lawk, I

never could be a orator.'

'Don't, then,' said the girl. 'You hush, or he'll hear.'

Rollo did them justice, as far as not minding anything went. His

first action after taking his stand, was to fold his arms and take a

somewhat prolonged survey of the company. The quick gray eyes

came everywhere; did they know Hazel? It appeared not; for after

a few minutes of this silent survey, Rollo bade his audience 'good

evening' and began his work.

He gave them in the first place the principal items of the week's

news out of several papers which he had at hand. This, it was

plain, was an extremely popular part of the entertainment. He read

and talked, explaining where it was necessary, sometimes

responding to a question from some one in the crowd. The papers

were both English and German, American and foreign; the bits of

intelligence carefully chosen to interest and to stimulate interest.

This part of the programme took up something over a half hour.

The next thing was the story if the "Chimes." And here also the

reading was exceedingly successful. Knowing his hearers more

thoroughly than is the privilege of most readers, Rollo could give

them a word of help just where it was necessary to make them

understand the author; briefly, and only as it was needed; for the

rest, he made the story speak to their hearts. Perhaps the simplicity

of his aim, which had no regard whatever to his own prominence

in the performance, gave him an advantage over most people who

read in public; perhaps Rollo was uncommonly gifted; but Wych

Hazel certainly thought, when she had time to think about it, that it

was no wonder Miss Powder or anybody else should make parties

to come and hear him, and rather wondered the whole countryside

were not there. And as for the rough audience who were present,

they were entranced. They forgot themselves. They forgot

everything in the world but Tiny Tim and his father and all the

humble experiences of the family; and tears and laughter

alternately testified to what a degree the reader had them all in his

hand. Hazel for her part laughed and cried when the rest did,—and

when they did not.

Just as this part of the reading was finished, there came a slight

disturbance down near the door; but all that appeared to the reader

was that one of the mill girls got up and went out.

'Where's the master?' a small frightened child had said, peering in.

'I wants him.'

'Well you can't have him,' answered the rough cloak imperiously.

'Don't you see he's busy?'

Whereupon the small girl lifted up her voice in lamentation, and

was instantly smothered in the cloak and swept out of the mill;

neither one appearing on those boards again that night. But the

reading went on, and the hours too; and it was eleven o'clock, all

told, before the audience were dismissed. Coming out at last into

the starlight darkness, Mr. Rollo ran full up against Dr. Arthur

Maryland.

'Arthur!—What now?'

'Dane, you can tell me—Where is the Patrick who has no wife?

I've been to six and they're all happy men.'

'Patrick? —who has lost his wife? It is Rafferty. What do you want

him for?'

'Something the matter there.'

'What?—Come, I'll shew you the way. What is it?'

'A child hurt. The father away drinking, the young ones at home

fighting,—as near as I can make it out. This one got a fall.'

Rollo had used his voice a good deal that evening, namely, for two

and a half consecutive hours. He said scarcely a word more until

they got to the house in question; but as he went he thought what

he would do with the gin shops whenever he should get control in

the Hollow. The cabin of the wifeless Patrick was high up the

valley and high up on the bank, a short way after all. A little

stream of light came out to meet them from the open door; and

once in line with this, Dr. Arthur stopped short with a suppressed

exclamation, and Rollo looked up.

The door had probably been left open of intent for air; for on some

low seat in the middle of the floor sat Wych Hazel, still muffled

partly in the cloak, which she had not taken time to throw off. The

hood had fallen back, and the cloak fell away on either side from

her silken folds and white laces; Hazel's attention was wholly

absorbed by the child on her lap. A little tattered figure lay with its

head on the young lady's breast; while both Wych Hazel's hands,

the one passed round the child as well as the other, were clasped

tight around one little arm. So they sat, quite still,—the child's eyes

upon her face; while a small circle of great admiration stood

around; fingers in mouth, hands behind back, wholly absorbed in

the vision or spell-bound with the voice. For she was softly

singing.

'You'll never be in Adam's case of destitution,—that's one thing!'

was Dr. Arthur's comment, as his friend sprang past him into the

cabin. Then however, like a wise man, postponing other things to

business, Rollo only demanded calmly what the matter was? Hazel

had not expected him, and there was a look of surprise and a

minute's flush; then her thoughts too went back to business.

'I think her arm is broken. I have been holding it in place.'

'And she let you?' queried Dr. Arthur.

'I would do it. She is more quiet now.'

'Sixteen carats fine!' said Dr. Arthur. 'Half the women I know

would have dropped the arm the moment they saw me, and nine-

tenths of the others would not have touched it at all! Now let me

see.'—

But first a change was made. Rollo took the child into his own

arms. It was done too swiftly and skilfully for the poor little

creature to make any objection, but its dismay and displeasure

were immediately proclaimed. The new hands that held it were

however both kind and strong, and the master's voice was already

known, even by these little ones. So the worst was soon over,

thanks to the firmness that had kept the arm quiet till the doctor

came. It was true; she "had the fight in her," as Dane had once

said; though now the woman was taking her revenge, and Hazel

sat behind the others with blanched cheeks. Dr. Arthur glanced at

her once or twice.

' "Ever so far away to Chickaree"!' he said,—'I should think it was!

Dane, can you find a substitute to watch this child to-night?'

'I'll see to that,' said his friend briefly; and laying the child out of

his arms as soon as its arm was made secure, he went to Wych

Hazel, pulled her hood on again, and drawing her hand through his

arm took her out of the cabin. Then asked her 'how she expected to

get home?'

'O Reo is here, somewhere.'

'With the carriage?"

'With an incognito gig.'

Rollo put her into a chair, stationed Dr. Arthur to keep ward over

her, and went to look for Reo. It seems that in the interest of the

reading Reo had missed the episode of his mistress's leaving the

assembly room, and had thereafter been wholly without a clue by

which to seek her. Near the mill Rollo found him, and presently

brought up the gig to Patrick Rafferty's cottage. Unsuspiciously

Wych Hazel allowed herself to be put into it. Then, standing with

the reins in his hand, Dane spoke to the doctor.

'It is late, Arthur; come up to my house and I'll take care of you.

Reo, take the road straight up to Mrs. Boërresen's.'

With which he jumped into the gig and put the horse in motion;

with such good will that before Dr. Arthur could get to the foot of

the hill the gig had climbed to Gyda's door, and Rollo had lifted

Wych Hazel out.

'But I did not mean to come here!' she said dismayfully. 'I was

thinking of something else! Mr. Rollo—what made you do so?'

'The obvious necessity of the case.'

'But I must go home.'

'To-morrow.'

He staid no further question. He opened the gate and led the little

lady across the few steps to the door.

'Gyda,' said he as they went in, 'let us have some coffee and

anything else that can be had quickly. Three people wanting it.'

And with that he went into the next room for the cushions.

'I shall stand for an upholsterer one of these days,' he remarked, as

he arranged and prepared Wych Hazel's easy chair. 'There! Now!'

He unfastened and threw off the rough cloak, much as if he did not

like it; took Wych Hazel's hands and put her in her place.

'What have you got to say to me?' he queried softly.

Hazel felt extremely shy and discomposed at the course things had

taken. It had been no part of her plan to have her escapade known

to any but the old servants at home; and here she was, not only

discovered but carried off,—and that with Mr. Falkirk's strictures

still sounding in her ears. Yet her first words went to another point.

'You should not touch me,' she said with a gentle little push,—'I

have not washed my face. And you know I had to use every means

I could think of to quiet the child.'

Hazel shivered a little, thinking what the screams had been at first

when she took the case in hand. Dane's eyes laughed and sparkled,

but he only disregarded her admonitions, and remarked that she

'did not answer him?'

'Mr. Rollo, I _must_ go home. Mr. Falkirk will be so vexed.'

'What else have you got to say me?'

'What do you want to hear about?' said Hazel demurely. 'I liked the

reading very much,—all that I heard of it. And the people seemed

to like you.'

'Did you think I would not find you out?'

'And you did not!' she said triumphantly.

'I should have found you out in another half hour. I saw you, and

you bothered me very much, but the lights were in my eyes. Did

you hope I would not see you, Hazel?'

She laughed gaily. 'Of course I hoped that! How did I "bother"

you, please?'

'Something I did not understand. Gyda, won't you take Miss

Kennedy where she can wash her face?'

Gyda led the way to her kitchen, a little detached building

connected with the house by a covered way. It was warm and light

with fire and full of savoury odours from the cookery going on.

Here the young lady was supplied with a bowl of water and a

napkin, and Hazel came back very much refreshed.

It was now half-past twelve o'clock and more. Dr. Arthur was

come, and there were preparations on foot for supper. Reo had

come to, and was sent to Gyda's little kitchen to get some

refreshment, while the others supped.

'Now,' said Rollo, as he gave Wych Hazel some porridge and filled

her cup, 'you may begin and give an account of yourself.'

'Autocratic,' said Hazel. 'I am no longer a mill girl, Mr. Rollo.'

'You came into my dominions with my livery. There's no help for

you now.'

'Well,'—said Hazel,—'the only drawback to the pleasure of my

drive over from Chickaree, was the state of mind in which I had

left Mrs. Bywank.'

'Well?' said Rollo, proceeding to take care of the doctor's cup. 'Go

on. Arthur and I are very curious.'

'After that, I wanted a bun, and saw no invitation to strangers.'

'You were there, were you! Isn't it a good institution?'

'Very—for people who are not strangers. Reo and I devoured

things with our eyes for some time. Then I— When the reading

began, I was in my place.'

'I should say, you were in somebody else's place. Never mind! If it

was not so late, I'd send down and get a bun for you.'

'What came in between the "Then" and the "When"?' said Dr.

Arthur. 'If one may inquire. Mere blank space?'

'Not quite,' said Hazel laughing and colouring. 'Just private,

scientific business. I was testing theories.'

'We are both interested in that, the doctor and I,' said Dane.

'Theories, and scientific business. Pray explain, Hazel.'

'I once heard a short lecture on magnetism,' said Miss Wych, all

grave except the gleam in her eyes; 'and it occurred to me to put it

to the proof. So I stood by the door and saw the people go in.'

Dr. Arthur laughed, but asked no further questions.

'Your true lovers of science are always ready to venture a good

deal in the pursuit of it,' observed Dane drily.

Wych Hazel's lips curled with mischief.

'When I got in,' she said, 'before the reading, I heard a good deal

about the reader. Most of it striking, and some of it new.'

'That at least all may hear,' remarked Dr. Arthur. 'Science may

have its reserves; but public news about Dane!—'

'It's very old indeed,' said the person concerned. 'Only new to this

witness. May be safely passed over.'

If Mr. Rollo was good at reading faces, he might see that remarks

about him were considered quite too much her own personal

property to be repeated to anybody in the world but himself. Wych

Hazel sat silent, stirring her coffee.

'We are ready to hear the rest,' he remarked with a smile. 'Go on to

the broken arm. How did you get hold of that?'

'One of the children came for you. And somebody had to go,' she

answered simply.

'And "somebody" had to keep the broken arm in place, I suppose.

But how came you to think of doing that?' said Rollo, who all the

while was looking after the comfort of his two guests in his own

fashion of quick-eyed ministry.

'I did not, till I had the child in my lap,' said Hazel; 'and then I

remembered all of a sudden something in one of my old

Edgeworth story books. So I tried, and succeeded.'

'I wish every one read story books to as good purpose,' said Dr.

Arthur. 'There is no describing from what you saved the child. But

at first I suppose she made great resistance?'

'Very great.'—Hazel did not want to enlarge upon that part of the

subject. And here Reo entered.

'Ha, Reo! are you made up for your journey already?' said Rollo.

'You can report to Mrs. Bywank that Miss Wych was too much

fatigued to take the drive home; and bring the carriage over in the

morning.'

Wych Hazel looked up, but her courage failed her for a protest.

She was obliged to let the order stand.

The fire was bright, the coffee was excellent, the little party so

oddly thrown together were happy in mutual confidence and

sympathy. Such hours are not too common, and a certain kindly

recognition of this one sat upon every face. Gyda was busy

preparing a room for Miss Kennedy and had not joined them.

'How does the work of the world look to you, Arthur, from this

corner?' said Dane, when they had subsided a little from supper to

the consideration of each other.

'Every spot of true Christian work is a centre,' said his friend. 'The

"corners" are for darkness—not light. Work is the most enticing

thing in the world to me, Dane!'

'Gyda's fireside was the corner I meant,—it's not dark just now!—

and I was thinking, that from this nook of quiet the work looks

easy. So it is! It is a hand to hand and foot to foot battle; but it is

easy to follow the captain that one loves.'

'I don't know that it is always easy,' said Dr. Arthur; 'but it can be

done. Once in a while, you know, we are sent to carry a redoubt

with only his orders before us. The Lord himself seems to be in

quite another part of the field.'

'That is, to those who do not know.'

'Of course. I speak only of the seeming. But I like the fight, and I

like the struggle. I like to measure battlements and prepare my

scaling ladders, and lead a forlorn hope. It suits me, I believe.'

'Battlements?' Hazel repeated. 'Do you mean heights of difficulty?'

—'Guarded by depths of sin,' said Dr. Arthur.

Hazel looked from one to the other. Yes, she could like that too, if

she were a man. How much could she do, being a woman?

'And that is all seeming too, Arthur,' his friend went on. '_Really_,

the fighter need never be out of that "feste Burg." I was thinking

just now, not only that work looks easy, but that it looks small.

Individual effort, I mean; the utmost that any one man can do. It is

a mere speck. The living waters that shall be "a river to swim in,"

are very shallow yet; and where the fishers are to stand and cast

their nets, it is a waste of barrenness. You have never been on the

shores of the Dead Sea, Arthur; you do not know how a little

thread of green on the mountain side shews where a spring of

sweet water runs down through the waste.'

'What then, Mr. Rollo?' said Wych Hazel.

'It is such a tiny thread of life upon the universal brown death.'

'Is that what the world looks like to you?' said Hazel, wondering.

'And the work is even far smaller than that, if you look at it in its

minute details. Did you ever read the life of Agnes Jones, Arthur?'

'Yes.'

'Prim lent me the book; and I found a good word in it the other

day. The writer says, I cannot give you the exact words,—"If we

do every little thing that comes to us, God may out of our many

littles make a great whole." Therein lies the very truth of our work.

It is so in Morton Hollow. Not building schoolhouses or making

villages; anybody can do that; it is the word of interest to one, the

word of sympathy to another; the holding a broken arm; giving

help and refreshment in individual cases. Love, in short, like the

sun, working softly and everywhere. As those threads of green on

the mountain side are made up of multitudinous tiny leaves and

mosses, nourished by countless invisible drops of spray.'

'Working in all sorts of ways'—said the Doctor; while Hazel sat

thinking of the green that was beginning to line the banks of

Morton Hollow. 'You may notice that a real spring goes literally

wherever it can. Men may wall it in with stone channels, or force it

into the air; but let it alone, it follows every possible opening. The

deep main stream, and the little side rills, and the single drops that

go each to a single leaf.'

Rollo looked up and smiled. 'There is Gyda coming to fetch you,

Hazel.'

'Well,' said Hazel. 'And you will go on talking all sorts of things

that I ought to hear.'

She rose up and stood looking down into the fire. The other two

rose also and stood looking at her. It was a pretty picture. Gyda, a

little apart, watched them all with her little bright eyes.

'But,' Hazel began again,—'to do that,—for every little drop to do

that—there must be a head of water. It is not the mere trickling

down of something which happens to be at the top!'—Whereupon

the little fingers took an extra knot.

'Each drop may do the ministry of one, may it not?' said Rollo.

'You need not count the drops. The only thing is that they be living

water.'

'Yes, the living water comes with a will. I remember,—in Mme.

Lasalle's brook,—how busy the drops were. Not in a hurry, but in

such sweet haste.'

'True!' said Dr. Arthur. 'Each with a clear bright purpose, if not a

plan.'

'Perhaps, best not the plan,' said Rollo.

She stood gravely thinking for a moment, then looked up and

shook hands with Dr. Arthur, wishing him good night. But no

words came when she gave her hand to Mr. Rollo; only—perhaps

in default of words—a beautiful, vivid blush.

The room to which the old Norsewoman conducted her was a very

plain little place, with whitewashed walls and the simplest of

furniture. Gyda manifested some concern lest her guest should

suffer for want of a fire. 'But the gentlemen had to have the other

room,' she said.

'O the fire is no matter,' said Hazel. 'But where do you sleep—with

such a houseful?'

'I have my little nest just by, my lady. I'd be glad to keep it! And

yet this is a strange place for my lad to have his home; and it's

been his home now for a year, nearly. How much longer will I

keep him, my lady?'

Gyda asked the most tremendous questions with a sort of

privileged simplicity; she looked now for her answer.

'Keep him?'—Hazel repeated the words in a maze.

'Yes, my lady. I know I must lose my lad from _this_ home; but

when is it to be?'

'A great while—I don't know,—nobody knows,' said Hazel very

much disturbed. 'Nobody thinks anything about it yet. So you need

not even recollect it, Mrs. Boërresen.'

Gyda looked at her with a tender, incredulous, pleased smile upon

her face. 'Do you think he will wait a great while, my lady?' she

said. And then she came up and kissed Wych Hazel's hand, and

went away.