To them life was a simple art
Of duties to be done,
A game where each man took his part,
A race where all must run;
A battle whose great scheme and scope
They little cared to know,
Content, as men-at-arms, to cope
Each with his fronting foe.
Milnes.
On so great and uncommon an occasion as Mr. Ringgan's giving a
dinner-party the disused front parlour was opened and set in order; the
women-folks, as he called them, wanting the whole back part of the house
for their operations. So when the visitors arrived, in good time, they
were ushered into a large square bare-looking room--a strong contrast even
to their dining-room at the Poolwhich gave them nothing of the welcome of
the pleasant farmhouse kitchen, and where nothing of the comfort of the
kitchen found its way but a very strong smell of roast pig. There was the
cheerless air of a place where nobody lives, or thinks of living. The very
chairs looked as if they had made up their minds to be forsaken for a term
of months; it was impossible to imagine that a cheerful supper had ever
been laid upon the stiff cold-looking table that stood with its leaves
down so primly against the wall. All that a blazing fire could do to make
amends for deficiencies, it did; but the wintry wind that swept round the
house shook the paper window-shades in a remorseless way; and the utmost
efforts of said fire could not prevent it from coming in and giving
disagreeable impertinent whispers at the ears of everybody.
Mr. Ringgan's welcome, however, was and would have been the same thing
anywhere--genial, frank, and dignified; neither he nor it could be changed
by circumstances. Mr. Carleton admired anew, as he came forward, the fine
presence and noble look of his old host; a look that it was plain had
never needed to seek the ground; a brow that in large or small things had
never been crossed by a shadow of shame. And to a discerning eye the face
was not a surer index of a lofty than of a peaceful and pure mind; too
peace-loving and pure perhaps for the best good of his affairs in the
conflict with a selfish and unscrupulous world. At least now, in the time
of his old age and infirmity; in former days his straightforward wisdom
backed by an indomitable courage and strength had made Mr. Ringgan no safe
subject for either braving or overreaching.
Fleda's keen-sighted affection was heartily gratified by the manner in
which her grandfather was greeted by at least one of his guests, and that
the one about whose opinion she cared the most. Mr. Carleton seemed as
little sensible of the cold room as Mr. Ringgan himself. Fleda felt sure
that her grandfather was appreciated; and she would have sat delightedly
listening to what the one and the other were presently saying, if she had
not taken notice that her cousin looked _astray_. He was eying the fire
with a profound air and she fancied he thought it poor amusement. Little
as Fleda in secret really cared about that, with an instant sacrifice of
her own pleasure she quietly changed her position for one from which she
could more readily bring to bear upon Mr. Rossitur's distraction the very
light artillery of her conversation; and attacked him on the subject of
the game he had brought home. Her motive and her manner both must have
been lost upon the young gentleman. He forthwith set about amusing himself
in a way his little entertainer had not counted upon, namely, with giving
a chase to her wits; partly to pass away the time, and partly to gratify
his curiosity, as he said, "to see what Fleda was made of." By a curious
system of involved, startling, or absurd questions, he endeavoured to
puzzle or confound or entrap her. Fleda however steadily presented a grave
front to the enemy, and would every now and then surprise him with an
unexpected turn or clever doubling, and sometimes, when he thought he had
her in a corner, jump over the fence and laugh at him from the other side.
Mr. Rossitur's respect for his little adversary gradually increased, and
finding that she had rather the best of the game he at last gave it up,
just as Mr. Ringgan was asking Mr. Carleton if he was a judge of stock?
Mr. Carleton saying with a smile "No, but he hoped Mr. Ringgan would give
him his first lesson,"--the old gentleman immediately arose with that
alacrity of manner he always wore when he had a visitor that pleased him,
and taking his hat and cane led the way out; choosing, with a man's true
carelessness of housewifery etiquette, the kitchen route, of all others.
Not even admonished by the sight of the bright Dutch oven before the fire
that he was introducing his visitors somewhat too early to the pig, he led
the whole party through, Cynthia scuttling away in haste across the
kitchen with something that must not be seen, while aunt Miriam looked out
at the company through the crack of the pantry door, at which Fleda
ventured a sly glance of intelligence.
It was a fine though a windy and cold afternoon; the lights and shadows
were driving across the broad upland and meadows.
"This is a fine arable country," remarked Mr. Carleton.
"Capital, sir,--capital, for many miles round, if we were not so far from
a market. I was one of the first that broke ground in this township,--one
of the very first settlers--I've seen the rough and the smooth of it, and
I never had but one mind about it from the first. All this--as far as you
can see--I cleared myself; most of it with my own hand."
"That recollection must attach you strongly to the place, I should
think, sir."
"Hum--perhaps I cared too much for it," he replied, "for it is taken away
from me. Well--it don't matter now."
"Is it not yours?"
"No sir!--it _was_ mine, a great many years; but I was obliged to part
with it, two years ago, to a scoundrel of a fellow--McGowan up here--he
got an advantage over me. I can't take care of myself any more as I
used to do, and I don't find that other people deal by me just as I
could wish--"
He was silent for a moment and then went on,--
"Yes sir! when I first set myself down here, or a little further that way
my first house was,--a pretty rough house, too,--there wa'n't two settlers
beside within something like ten miles round.--I've seen the whole of it
cleared, from the cutting of the first forest trees till this day."
"You have seen the nation itself spring up within that time," remarked
his guest.
"Not exactly--that question of our nationality was settled a little before
I came here. I was born rather too late to see the whole of that play--I
saw the best of it though--boys were men in those days. My father was in
the thick of it from beginning to end."
"In the army, was he?"
"Ho yes, sir! he and every child he had that wasn't a girl--there wasn't a
man of the name that wa'n't on the right side. I was in the army myself
when I was fifteen. I was nothing but a fifer--but I tell you sir! there
wasn't a general officer in the country that played his part with a
prouder heart than I did mine!"
"And was that the general spirit of the ranks?"
"Not altogether," replied the old gentleman, passing his hand several
times abstractedly over his white hair, a favourite gesture with
him,--"not exactly that--there was a good deal of mixture of different
materials, especially in this state; and where the feeling wasn't pretty
strong it was no wonder if it got tired out; but the real stuff, the true
Yankee blood, was pretty firm! Ay, and some of the rest! There was a good
deal to try men in those days. Sir, I have seen many a time when I had
nothing to dine upon but my fife, and it was more than that could do to
keep me from feeling very empty!"
"But was this a common case? did this happen often?" said Mr. Carleton.
"Pretty often--pretty often, sometimes," answered the old gentleman.
"Things were very much out of order, you see, and in some parts of the
country it was almost impossible to get the supplies the men needed.
Nothing would have kept them together,--nothing under heaven--but the love
and confidence they had in one name. Their love of right and independence
wouldn't have been strong enough, and besides a good many of them got
disheartened. A hungry stomach is a pretty stout arguer against abstract
questions. I have seen my father crying like a child for the wants and
sufferings he was obliged to see and couldn't relieve."
"And then you used to relieve yourselves, grandpa," said Fleda.
"How was that, Fairy?"
Fleda looked at her grandfather, who gave a little preparatory laugh and
passed his hand over his head again.
"Why yes," said he,--"we used to think the tories, King George's men you
know, were fair game; and when we happened to be in the neighbourhood of
some of them that we knew were giving all the help they could to the
enemy, we used to let them cook our dinners for us once in a while."
"How did you manage that, sir?"
"Why, they used to have little bake-ovens to cook their meats and so on,
standing some way out from the house,--did you never gee one of
them?--raised on four little heaps of stone; the bottom of the oven is one
large flat stone, and the arch built over it;--they look like a great
bee-hive. Well--we used to watch till we saw the good woman of the house
get her oven cleverly heated, and put in her batch of bread, or her meat
pie, or her pumpkin and apple pies!--whichever it was--there didn't any of
'em come much amiss--and when we guessed they were pretty nigh done, three
or four of us would creep in and whip off the whole--oven and all!--to a
safe place. I tell you," said he with a knowing nod of his head at the
laughing Fleda,--"those were first-rate pies!"
"And then did you put the oven back again afterwards, grandpa?"
"I guess not often, dear!" replied the old gentleman.
"What do you think of such lawless proceedings, Miss Fleda?" said Mr.
Carleton, laughing at or with her.
"O I like it," said Fleda. "You liked those pies all the better, didn't
you, grandpa, because you had got them from the tories?"
"That we did! If we hadn't got them maybe King George's men would, in some
shape. But we weren't always so lucky as to get hold of an oven full. I
remember one time several of us had been out on a foraging expedition----
there, sir, what do you think of that for a two and a half year old?"
They had come up with the chief favourite of his barn-yard, a fine
deep-coloured Devon bull.
"I don't know what one might see in Devonshire," he remarked presently,
"but I know _this_ country can't shew the like of him!"
A discussion followed of the various beauties and excellencies of the
animal; a discussion in which Mr. Carleton certainly took little part,
while Mr. Ringgan descanted enthusiastically upon 'hide' and 'brisket' and
'bone,' and Rossitur stood in an abstraction, it might be scornful, it
might be mazed. Little Fleda quietly listening and looking at the
beautiful creature, which from being such a treasure to her grandfather
was in a sort one to her, more than half understood them all; but Mr.
Ringgan was too well satisfied with the attention of one of his guests to
miss that of the other.
"That fellow don't look as if _he_ had ever known short commons," was
Rossitur's single remark as they turned away.
"You did not give us the result of your foraging expedition, sir," said
Mr. Carleton in a different manner.
"Do, grandpa," said Fleda softly.
"Ha!--Oh it is not worth telling," said the old gentleman, look ing
gratified;--"Fleda has heard my stories till she knows them by heart--she
could tell it as well herself. What was it?--about the pig?--We had been
out, several of us, one afternoon to try to get up a supper--or a dinner,
for we had had none--and we had caught a pig. It happened that I was the
only one of the party that had a cloak, and so the pig was given to me to
carry home, because I could hide it the best. Well sir!--we were coming
home, and had set our mouths for a prime supper, when just as we were
within a few rods of our shanty who should come along but our captain! My
heart sank as it never has done at the thought of a supper before or
since, I believe! I held my cloak together as well as I could, and kept
myself back a little, so that if the pig shewed a cloven foot behind me,
the captain might not see it. But I almost gave up all for lost when I saw
the captain going into the hut with us. There was a kind of a rude
bedstead standing there; and I set myself down upon the side of it, and
gently worked and eased my pig off under my cloak till I got him to roll
down behind the bed. I knew," said Mr. Ringgan laughing, "I knew by the
captain's eye as well as I knew anything, that he smelt a rat; but he kept
our counsel, as well as his own; and when he was gone we took the pig out
into the woods behind the shanty and roasted him finely, and we sent and
asked Capt. Sears to supper; and he came and helped us eat the pig with a
great deal of appetite, and never asked no questions how we came by him!"
"I wonder your stout-heartedness did not fail, in the course of so long a
time," said Mr. Carleton.
"Never sir!" said the old gentleman. "I never doubted for a moment what
the end would be. My father never doubted for a moment. We trusted in God
and in Washington!"
"Did you see actual service yourself?"
"No sir--I never did. I wish I had. I should like to have had the honour
of striking one blow at the rascals. However they were hit pretty well. I
ought to be contented. My father saw enough of fighting--he was colonel of
a regiment--he was at the affair of Burgoyne. _That_ gave us a lift in
good time. What rejoicing there was everywhere when that news came! I
could have fifed all day upon an empty stomach and felt satisfied. People
reckoned everywhere that the matter was settled when that great piece of
good fortune was given us. And so it was!--wa'n't it, dear?" said the old
gentleman, with one of those fond, pleased, sympathetic looks to Fleda
with which he often brought up what he was saying.
"General Gates commanded there?" said Mr. Carleton.
"Yes sir--Gates was a poor stick--I never thought much of him. That fellow
Arnold distinguished himself in the actions before Burgoyne's surrender.
He fought like a brave man. It seems strange that so mean a scamp should
have had so much blood in him?"
"Why, are great fighters generally good men, grandpa?" said Fleda.
"Not exactly, dear!" replied her grandfather;--"but such
little-minded rascality is not just the vice one would expect to find
in a gallant soldier."
"Those were times that made men," said Mr. Carleton musingly.
"Yes," answered the old gentleman gravely,--"they were times that called
for men, and God raised them up. But Washington was the soul of the
country, sir!"
"Well, the time made him," said Mr. Carleton.
"I beg your pardon," said the old gentleman with a very decided little
turn of his head,--"I think he made the time. I don't know what it would
have been, sir, or what it would have come to, but for him. After all, it
is rather that the things which try people shew what is in them;--I hope
there are men enough in the country yet, though they haven't as good a
chance to shew what they are."
"Either way," said his guest smiling; "it is a happiness, Mr. Ringgan, to
have lived at a time when there was something worth living for."
"Well--I don't know--" said the old gentleman;--"those times would make
the prettiest figure in a story or a romance, I suppose; but I've tried
both, and on the whole," said he with another of his looks at Fleda,--"I
think I like these times the best!"
Fleda smiled her acquiescence. His guest could not help thinking to
himself that however pacific might be Mr. Ringgan's temper, no man in
those days that tried men could have brought to the issue more stern
inflexibility and gallant fortitude of bearing. His frame bore evidence
of great personal strength, and his eye, with all its mildness, had an
unflinching dignity that _could_ never have quailed before danger or
duty. And now, while he was recalling with great animation and pleasure
the scenes of his more active life, and his blue eye was shining with the
fire of other days, his manner had the self-possession and quiet
sedateness of triumph that bespeak a man always more ready to do than to
say. Perhaps the contemplation of the noble Roman-like old figure before
him did not tend to lessen the feeling, even the sigh of regret, with
which the young man said,
"There was something then for a man to do!"
"There is always that," said the old gentleman quietly. "God has given
every man his work to do; and 'tain't difficult for him to find out what.
No man is put here to be idle."
"But," said his companion, with a look in which not a little haughty
reserve was mingled with a desire to speak out his thoughts, "half the
world are busy about hum-drum concerns and the other half doing nothing,
or worse."
"I don't know about that," said Mr. Ringgan;--"that depends upon the way
you take things. 'Tain't always the men that make the most noise that are
the most good in the world. Hum-drum affairs needn't be hum-drum in the
doing of 'em. It is my maxim," said the old gentleman looking at his
companion with a singularly open pleasant smile,--"that a man may be great
about a'most anything--chopping wood, if he happens to be in that line. I
used to go upon that plan, sir. Whatever I have set my hand to do, I have
done it as well as I knew how to; and if you follow that rule out you'll
not be idle, nor hum-drum neither. Many's the time that I have mowed what
would be a day's work for another man, before breakfast."
Rossitur's smile was not meant to be seen. But Mr. Carleton's, to the
credit of his politeness and his understanding both, was frank as the old
gentleman's own, as he answered with a good-humoured shake of his head,
"I can readily believe it, sir, and honour both your maxim and your
practice. But I am not exactly in that line."
"Why don't you try the army?" said Mr. Ringgan with a look of interest.
"There is not a cause worth fighting for," said the young man, his brow
changing again. "It is only to add weight to the oppressor's hand, or
throw away life in the vain endeavour to avert it. I will do neither."
"But all the world is open before such a young man as you," said
Mr. Ringgan.
"A large world," said Mr. Carleton with his former mixture of
expression,--"but there isn't much in it."
"Politics?" said Mr. Ringgan.
"It is to lose oneself in a seething-pot, where the scum is the most
apparent thing."
"But there is society?" said Rossitur.
"Nothing better or more noble than the succession of motes that flit
through a sunbeam into oblivion."
"Well, why not then sit down quietly on one's estates and enjoy them, one
who has enough?"
"And be a worm in the heart of an apple."
"Well then," said Rossitur laughing, though not knowing exactly how far he
might venture, "there is nothing left for you, as I don't suppose you
would take to any of the learned professions, but to strike out some new
path for yourself--hit upon some grand invention for benefiting the human
race and distinguishing your own name at once."
But while he spoke his companion's face had gone back to its usual look
of imperturbable coolness; the dark eye was even haughtily unmoved, till
it met Fleda's inquiring and somewhat anxious glance. He smiled.
"The nearest approach I ever made to that," said he, "was when I went
chestnuting the other day. Can't you find some more work for me, Fairy?"
Taking Fleda's hand with his wonted graceful lightness of manner he walked
on with her, leaving the other two to follow together.
"You would like to know, perhaps," observed Mr. Rossitur in rather a low
tone,--"that Mr. Carleton is an Englishman."
"Ay, ay?" said Mr. Ringgan. "An Englishman, is he?--Well sir,--what is it
that I would like to know?"
"_That"_ said Rossitur. "I would have told you before if I could. I
supposed you might not choose to speak quite so freely, perhaps, on
American affairs before him."
"I haven't two ways of speaking, sir, on anything," said the old gentleman
a little dryly. "Is your friend very tender on that chapter?"
"O not that I know of at all," said Rossitur; "but you know there is a
great deal of feeling still among the English about it--they have never
forgiven us heartily for whipping them; and I know Carleton is related to
the nobility and all that, you know; so I thought--"
"Ah well!" said the old gentleman,--"we don't know much about
nobility and such gimcracks in this country. I'm not much of a
courtier. I am pretty much accustomed to speak my mind as I think
it.--He's wealthy, I suppose?"
"He's more than that, sir. Enormous estates! He's the finest fellow in the
world--one of the first young men in England."
"You have been there yourself and know?" said Mr. Ringgan, glancing at his
companion.
"If I have not, sir, others have told me that do."
"Ah well," said Mr. Ringgan placidly,--"we sha'n't quarrel, I guess. What
did he come out here for, eh?"
"Only to amuse himself. They are going back again in a few weeks, and I
intend accompanying them to join my mother in Paris. Will my little cousin
be of the party?"
They were sauntering along towards the house. A loud calling of her name
the minute before had summoned Fleda thither at the top of her speed; and
Mr. Carleton turned to repeat the same question.
The old gentleman stopped, and striking his stick two or three times
against the ground looked sorrowfully undetermined.
"Well, I don't know!--" he said at last,--"it's a pretty hard
matter--she'd break her heart about it, I suppose,--"
"I dare urge nothing, sir," said Mr. Carleton. "I will only assure you
that if you entrust your treasure to us she shall be cherished as you
would wish, till we place her in the hands of her aunt."
"I know that, sir,--I do not doubt it," said Mr. Ringgan, "but--I'll tell
you by and by what I conclude upon," he said with evident relief of manner
as Fleda came bounding back to them. "Mr. Rossitur, have you made your
peace with Fleda?"
"I was not aware that I had any to make, sir," replied the young
gentleman. "I will do it with pleasure if my little cousin will tell me
how. But she looks as if she needed enlightening as much as myself."
"She has something against you, I can tell you," said the old gentleman,
looking amused, and speaking as if Fleda were a curious little piece of
human mechanism which could hear its performances talked of with all the
insensibility of any other toy. "She gives it as her judgment that Mr.
Carleton is the most of a gentleman, because he keeps his promise."
"Oh grandpa!"--
Poor Fleda's cheek was hot with a distressful blush. Rossitur coloured
with anger. Mr. Carleton's smile had a very different expression.
"If Fleda will have the goodness to recollect," said Rossitur, "I cannot
be charged with breaking a promise, for I made none."
"But Mr. Carleton did," said Fleda.
"She is right, Mr. Rossitur, she is right," said that gentleman; "a
fallacy might as well elude Ithuriel's spear as the sense of a pure
spirit--there is no need of written codes. Make your apologies, man, and
confess yourself in the wrong."
"Pho, pho," said the old gentleman,--"she don't take it very much to heart.
I guess _I_ ought to be the one to make the apologies," he added, looking
at Fleda's face.
But Fleda commanded herself, with difficulty, and announced that dinner
was ready.
"Mr. Rossitur tells me, Mr. Carleton, you are an Englishman," said his
host. "I have some notion of that's passing through my head before, but
somehow I had entirely lost sight of it when I was speaking so freely to
you a little while ago--about our national quarrel--I know some of your
countrymen owe us a grudge yet."
"Not I, I assure you," said the young Englishman. "I am ashamed of them
for it. I congratulate you on being Washington's countryman and a sharer
in his grand struggle for the right against the wrong."
Mr. Ringgan shook his guest's hand, looking very much pleased; and having
by this time arrived at the house the young gentlemen were formally
introduced at once to the kitchen, their dinner, and aunt Miriam.
It is not too much to say that the entertainment gave perfect satisfaction
to everybody--better fate than attends most entertainments. Even Mr.
Rossitur's ruffled spirit felt the soothing influence of good cheer, to
which he happened to be peculiarly sensible, and came back to its average
condition of amenity.
Doubtless that was a most informal table, spread according to no rules
that for many generations at least have been known in the refined world;
an anomaly in the eyes of certainly one of the company. Yet the board had
a character of its own, very far removed from vulgarity, and suiting
remarkably well with the condition and demeanour of those who presided
over it--a comfortable, well-to-do, substantial look, that could afford to
dispense with minor graces; a self-respect that was not afraid of
criticism. Aunt Miriam's successful efforts deserve to be celebrated.
In the middle of the table the polished amber of the pig's arched back
elevated itself,--a striking object,--but worthy of the place he filled,
as the honours paid him by everybody abundantly testified. Aunt Miriam had
sent down a basket of her own bread, made out of the new flour, brown and
white, both as sweet and fine as it is possible for bread to be; the
piled-up slices were really beautiful. The superb butter had come from
aunt Miriam's dairy too, for on such an occasion she would not trust to
the very doubtful excellence of Miss Cynthia's doings. Every spare place
on the table was filled with dishes of potatoes and pickles and
sweetmeats, that left nothing to be desired in their respective kinds; the
cake was a delicious presentment of the finest of material; and the pies,
pumpkin pies, such as only aunt Miriam could make, rich compounds of
everything _but_ pumpkin, with enough of that to give them a name--Fleda
smiled to think how pleased aunt Miriam must secretly be to see the homage
paid her through them. And most happily Mrs. Plumfield had discovered that
the last tea Mr. Ringgan had brought from the little Queechy store was not
very good, and there was no time to send up on "the hill" for more, so she
made coffee. Verily it was not Mocha, but the thick yellow cream with
which the cups were filled readily made up the difference. The most
curious palate found no want.
Everybody was in a high state of satisfaction, even to Miss Cynthia Grail;
who, having some lurking suspicion that Mrs. Plumfield might design to cut
her out of her post of tea-making, had slipped herself into her usual
chair behind the tea-tray before anybody else was ready to sit down. No
one at table bestowed a thought upon Miss Cynthia, but as she thought of
nothing else she may be said to have had her fair share of attention. The
most unqualified satisfaction however was no doubt little Fleda's.
Forgetting with a child's happy readiness the fears and doubts which had
lately troubled her, she was full of the present, enjoying with a most
unselfish enjoyment everything that pleased anybody else. _She_ was glad
that the supper was a fine one, and so approved, because it was her
grandfather's hospitality and her aunt Miriam's housekeeping; little
beside was her care for pies or coffee. She saw with secret glee the
expression of both her aunt's and Mr. Ringgan's face; partly from pure
sympathy, and partly because, as she knew, the cause of it was Mr.
Carleton, whom privately Fleda liked very much. And after all perhaps he
had directly more to do with her enjoyment than all other causes together.
Certainly that was true of him with respect to the rest of the
dinner-table. None at that dinner-table had ever seen the like. With all
the graceful charm of manner with which he would have delighted a courtly
circle, he came out from his reserve and was brilliant, gay, sensible,
entertaining, and witty, to a degree that assuredly has very rarely been
thrown away upon an old farmer in the country and his un-polite sister.
They appreciated him though, as well as any courtly circle could have
done, and he knew it. In aunt Miriam's strong sensible face, when not full
of some hospitable care, he could see the reflection of every play of his
own; the grave practical eye twinkled and brightened, giving a ready
answer to every turn of sense or humour in what he was saying. Mr.
Ringgan, as much of a child for the moment as Fleda herself, had lost
everything disagreeable and was in the full genial enjoyment of talk,
rather listening than talking, with his cheeks in a perpetual dimple of
gratification, and a low laugh of hearty amusement now and then rewarding
the conversational and kind efforts of his guest with a complete triumph.
Even the subtle charm which they could not quite recognise wrought
fascination. Miss Cynthia declared afterwards, half admiring and half
vexed, that he spoiled her supper, for she forgot to think how it tasted.
Rossitur--his good humour was entirely restored; but whether even Mr.
Carleton's power could have achieved that without the perfect seasoning of
the pig and the smooth persuasion of the richly-creamed coffee, it may
perhaps be doubted. He stared, mentally, for he had never known his friend
condescend to bring himself out in the same manner before; and he wondered
what he could see in the present occasion to make it worth while.
But Mr. Carleton did not think his efforts thrown away. He understood and
admired his fine old host and hostess; and with all their ignorance of
conventionalities and absence of what is called _polish_ of manner, he
could enjoy the sterling sense, the good feeling, the true hearty
hospitality, and the dignified courtesy which both of them shewed. No
matter of the outside; this was in the grain. If mind had lacked much
opportunity it had also made good use of a little; his host, Mr. Carleton
found, had been a great reader, was well acquainted with history and a
very intelligent reasoner upon it; and both he and his sister shewed a
strong and quick aptitude for intellectual subjects of conversation. No
doubt aunt Miriam's courtesy had not been taught by a dancing master, and
her brown-satin gown had seen many a fashion come and go since it was
made, but a _lady_ was in both; and while Rossitur covertly smiled, Mr.
Carleton paid his sincere respect where he felt it was due. Little Fleda's
quick eye hardly saw, but more than half felt, the difference. Mr.
Carleton had no more eager listener now than she, and perhaps none whose
unaffected interest and sympathy gave him more pleasure.
[Illustration: Fleda coloured and looked at her grandfather.]
When they rose from the table Mr. Ringgan would not be _insinuated_ into
the cold front room again.
"No, no," said he,--"what's the matter?--the table? Push the table back,
and let it take care of itself,--come, gentlemen, sit down--draw up your
chairs round the fire, and a fig for ceremony! Comfort, sister Miriam,
against politeness, any day in the year;--don't you say so too, Fairy?
Come here by me."
"Miss Fleda," said Mr. Carleton, "will you take a ride with me to
Montepoole to-morrow? I should like to make you acquainted with my mother."
Fleda coloured and looked at her grandfather.
"What do you say, deary?" he inquired fondly; "will you go?--I believe,
sir, your proposal will prove a very acceptable one. You will go, won't
you, Fleda?"
Fleda would very much rather not! But she was always exceedingly afraid
of hurting people's feelings; she could not bear that Mr. Carleton should
think she disliked to go with him, so she answered yes, in her usual
sober manner.
Just then the door opened and a man unceremoniously walked in, his
entrance immediately following a little sullen knock that had made a
mockery of asking permission. An ill-looking man, in the worst sense; his
face being a mixture of cunning, meanness, and insolence. He shut the
door and came with a slow leisurely step into the middle of the room
without speaking a word. Mr. Carleton saw the blank change in Fleda's
face. She knew him.
"Do you wish to see me, Mr. McGowan?" said Mr. Ringgan, not without
something of the same change.
"I guess I ha'n't come here for nothing," was the gruff retort.
"Wouldn't another time answer as well?"
"I don't mean to find you here another time," said the man chuckling,--"I
have given you notice to quit, and now I have come to tell you you'll
clear out. I ain't a going to be kept out of my property for ever. If I
can't get my money from you, Elzevir Ringgan, I'll see you don't get no
more of it in your hands."
"Very well, sir," said the old gentleman;--"You have said all that is
necessary."
"You have got to hear a little more, though," returned the other, "I've an
idea that there's a satisfaction in speaking one's mind. I'll have that
much out of you! Mr. Ringgan, a man hadn't ought to make an agreement to
pay what he doesn't _mean_ to pay, and what he has made an agreement to
pay he ought to meet and be up to, if he sold his soul for it! You call
yourself a Christian, do you, to stay in another man's house, month after
month, when you know you ha'n't got the means to give him the rent for it!
That's what _I_ call stealing, and it's what I'd live in the County House
before I'd demean myself to do I and so ought you."
"Well, well! neighbour," said Mr. Ringgan, with patient dignity,--"it's no
use calling names. You know as well as I do how all this came about. I
hoped to be able to pay you, but I haven't been able to make it out,
without having more time."
"Time!" said the other. "Time to cheat me out of a little more houseroom.
If I was agoing to live on charity, Mr. Ringgan, I'd come out and say so,
and not put my hand in a man's pocket this way. You'll quit the house by
the day after to morrow, or if you don't I'll let you hear a little more
of me that you won't like!"
He stalked out, shutting the door after him with a bang. Mr. Carleton had
quitted the room a moment before him.
Nobody moved or spoke at first, when the man was gone, except Miss
Cynthia, who as she was taking something from the table to the pantry
remarked, probably for Mr. Rossitur's benefit, that "Mr. Ringgan had to
have that man punished for something he did a few years ago when he was
justice of the peace, and she guessed likely that was the reason he had a
grudge agin him ever since." Beyond this piece of dubious information
nothing was said. Little Fleda stood beside her grandfather with a face of
quiet distress; the tears silently running over her flushed cheeks, and
her eyes fixed upon Mr. Ringgan with a tender touching look of sympathy,
most pure from self-recollection.
Mr. Carleton presently came in to take leave of the disturbed family. The
old gentleman rose and returned his shake of the hand with even a degree
more than usual of his manly dignity, or Mr. Carleton thought so.
"Good day to you, sir!" he said heartily. "We have had a great deal of
pleasure in your society, and I shall always be very happy to see
you--wherever I am." And then following him to the door and wringing his
hand with a force he was not at all aware of, the old gentleman added in a
lower tone, "I shall let her go with you!"
Mr. Carleton read his whole story in the stern self-command of brow, and
the slight convulsion of feature which all the self-command could not
prevent. He returned warmly the grasp of the hand answering merely, "I
will see you again."
Fleda wound her arms round her grandfather's neck when they were gone, and
did her best to comfort him, assuring him that "they would be just as
happy somewhere else." And aunt Miriam earnestly proffered her own home.
But Fleda knew that her grandfather was not comforted. He stroked her head
with the same look of stern gravity and troubled emotion which had grieved
her so much the other day. She could not win him to a smile, and went to
bed at last feeling desolate. She had no heart to look out at the night.
The wind was sweeping by in wintry gusts; and Fleda cried herself to sleep
thinking how it would whistle round the dear old house when their ears
would not be there to hear it.