Her sports were such as carried riches of knowledge upon the stream of
light.--Sidney.
Fleda had not been a year in Paris when her uncle suddenly made up his
mind to quit it and go home. Some trouble in money affairs, felt or
feared, brought him to this step, which a month before he had no definite
purpose of ever taking. There was cloudy weather in the financial world of
New York and he wisely judged it best that his own eyes should be on the
spot to see to his own interests. Nobody was sorry for this determination.
Mrs. Rossitur always liked what her husband liked, but she had at the same
time a decided predilection for home. Marion was glad to leave her convent
for the gay world, which her parents promised she should immediately
enter. And Hugh and Fleda had too lively a spring of happiness within
themselves to care where its outgoings should be.
So home they came, in good mood, bringing with them all manner of Parisian
delights that Paris could part with. Furniture, that at home at least they
might forget where they were; dresses, that at home or abroad nobody might
forget where they had been; pictures and statuary and engravings and
books, to satisfy a taste really strong and well cultivated. And indeed
the other items were quite as much for this purpose as for any other. A
French cook for Mr. Rossitur, and even Rosaline for his wife, who declared
she was worth all the rest of Paris. Hugh cared little for any of these
things; he brought home a treasure of books and a flute, to which he was
devoted. Fleda cared for them all, even Monsieur Emile and Rosaline, for
her uncle's and aunt's sake; but her special joy was a beautiful little
King Charles which had been sent her by Mr. Carleton a few weeks before.
It came with the kindest of letters, saying that some matters had made it
inexpedient for him to pass through Paris on his way home, but that he
hoped nevertheless to see her soon. That intimation was the only thing
that made Fleda sorry to leave Paris. The little dog was a beauty,
allowed to be so not only by his mistress but by every one else; of the
true black and tan colours; and Fleda's dearly loved and constant
companion.
The life she and Hugh led was little changed by the change of place. They
went out and came in as they had done in Paris, and took the same quiet
but intense happiness in the same quiet occupations and pleasures; only
the Tuileries and Champs Elysées had a miserable substitute in the
Battery, and no substitute at all anywhere else. And the pleasant drives
in the environs of Paris were missed too and had nothing in New York to
supply their place. Mrs. Rossitur always said it was impossible to get out
of New York by land, and not worth the trouble to do it by water. But then
in the house Fleda thought there was a great gain. The dirty Parisian
Hotel was well exchanged for the bright, clean, well-appointed house in
State street. And if Broadway was disagreeable, and the Park a weariness
to the eyes, after the dressed gardens of the French capital, Hugh and
Fleda made it up in the delights of the luxuriously furnished library and
the dear at-home feeling of having the whole house their own.
They were left, those two children, quite as much to themselves as ever.
Marion was going into company, and she and her mother were swallowed up in
the consequent necessary calls upon their time. Marion never had been
anything to Fleda. She was a fine handsome girl, outwardly, but seemed to
have more of her father than her mother in her composition, though
colder-natured and more wrapped up in self than Mr. Rossitur would be
called by anybody that knew him. She had never done anything to draw Fleda
towards her, and even Hugh had very little of her attention. They did not
miss it. They were everything to each other.
Everything,--for now morning and night there was a sort of whirlwind in
the house which carried the mother and daughter round and round and
permitted no rest; and Mr. Rossitur himself was drawn in. It was worse
than it had been in Paris. There, with Marion in her convent, there were
often evenings when they did not go abroad nor receive company and spent
the time quietly and happily in each other's society. No such evenings
now; if by chance there were an unoccupied one Mrs. Rossitur and her
daughter were sure to be tired and Mr. Rossitur busy.
Hugh and Fleda in those bustling times retreated to the library; Mr.
Rossitur would rarely have that invaded; and while the net was so eagerly
cast for pleasure among the gay company below, pleasure had often slipped
away and hid herself among the things on the library table, and was
dancing on every page of Hugh's book and minding each stroke of Fleda's
pencil and cocking the spaniel's ears whenever his mistress looked at him.
King, the spaniel, lay on a silk cushion on the library table, his nose
just touching Fleda's fingers. Fleda's drawing was mere amusement; she
and Hugh were not so burthened with studies that they had not always their
evenings free, and to tell truth, much more than their evenings. Masters
indeed they had; but the heads of the house were busy with the interests
of their grown-up child, and perhaps with other interests; and took it for
granted that all was going right with the young ones.
"Haven't we a great deal better time than they have down stairs, Fleda?"
said Hugh one of these evenings.
"Hum--yes--" answered Fleda abstractedly, stroking into order some old man
in her drawing with great intentness.--"King!--you rascal--keep back and
be quiet, sir!--"
Nothing could be conceived more gentle and loving than Fleda's tone of
fault-finding, and her repulse only fell short of a caress.
"What's he doing?"
"Wants to get into my lap."
"Why don't you let him?"
"Because I don't choose to--a silk cushion is good enough for his majesty.
King!--" (laying her soft cheek against the little dog's soft head and
forsaking her drawing for the purpose.)
"How you do love that dog!" said Hugh.
"Very well--why shouldn't I?--provided he steals no love from anybody
else," said Fleda, still caressing him.
"What a noise somebody is making down stairs!" said Hugh. "I don't think I
should ever want to go to large parties, Fleda, do you?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, whose natural taste for society was strongly
developed;--"it would depend upon what kind of parties they were."
"I shouldn't like them, I know, of whatever kind," said Hugh. "What are
you smiling at?"
"Only Mr. Pickwick's face, that I am drawing here."
Hugh came round to look and laugh, and then began again.
"I can't think of anything pleasanter than this room as we are now."
"You should have seen Mr. Carleton's library," said Fleda in a musing
tone, going on with her drawing.
"Was it so much better than this?"
Fleda's eyes gave a slight glance at the room and then looked down again
with a little shake of her head sufficiently expressive.
"Well," said Hugh, "you and I do not want any better than this, do
we, Fleda?"
Fleda's smile, a most satisfactory one, was divided between him and King.
"I don't believe," said Hugh, "you would have loved that dog near so well
if anybody else had given him to you."
"I don't believe I should!--not a quarter," said Fleda with sufficient
distinctness.
"I never liked that Mr. Carleton as well as you did."
"That is because you did not know him," said Fleda quietly.
"Do you think he was a good man, Fleda?"
"He was very good to me," said Fleda, "always. What rides I did have on
that great black horse of his!"--
"A black horse?"
"Yes, a great black horse, strong, but so gentle, and he went so
delightfully. His name was Harold. Oh I should like to see that
horse!--When I wasn't with him, Mr. Carleton used to ride another, the
greatest beauty of a horse, Hugh; a brown Arabian--so slender and
delicate--her name was Zephyr, ind she used to go like the wind, to be
sure. Mr. Carleton said he wouldn't trust me on such a fly-away thing."
"But you didn't use to ride alone?" said Hugh.
"Oh no!--and _I_ wouldn't have been afraid if he had chosen to take me
on any one."
"But do you think, Fleda, he was a _good_ man? as I mean?"
"I am sure he was better than a great many others," answered Fleda
evasively;--"the worst of him was infinitely better than the best of half
the people down stairs,--Mr. Sweden included."
"Sweden"--you don't call his name right."
"The worse it is called the better, in my opinion," said Fleda.
"Well, I don't like him; but what makes you dislike him so much?"
"I don't know--partly because uncle Rolf and Marion like him so much, I
believe--I don't think there is any moral expression in his face."
"I wonder why they like him," said Hugh.
It was a somewhat irregular and desultory education that the two children
gathered under this system of things. The masters they had were rather for
accomplishments and languages than for anything solid; the rest they
worked out for themselves. Fortunately they both loved books, and rational
books; and hours and hours, when Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter were
paying or receiving visits, they, always together, were stowed away behind
the book-cases or in the library window poring patiently over pages of
various complexion; the soft turning of the leaves or Fleda's frequent
attentions to King the only sound in the room. They walked together,
talking of what they had read, though indeed they ranged beyond that into
nameless and numberless fields of speculation, where if they sometimes
found fruit they as often lost their way. However the habit of ranging was
something. Then when they joined the rest of the family at the
dinner-table, especially if others were present, and most especially if a
certain German gentleman happened to be there who the second winter after
their return Fleda thought came very often, she and Hugh would be sure to
find the strange talk of the world that was going on unsuited and
wearisome to them, and they would make their escape up stairs again to
handle the pencil and to play the flute and to read, and to draw plans for
the future, while King crept upon the skirts of his mistress's gown and
laid his little head on her feet. Nobody ever thought of sending them to
school. Hugh was a child of frail health, and though not often very ill
was often near it; and as for Fleda, she and Hugh were inseparable; and
besides by this time her uncle and aunt would almost as soon have thought
of taking the mats off their delicate shrubs in winter as of exposing her
to any atmosphere less genial than that of home.
For Fleda this doubtful course of mental training wrought singularly well.
An uncommonly quick eye and strong memory and clear head, which she had
even in childhood, passed over no field of truth or fancy without making
their quiet gleanings; and the stores thus gathered, though somewhat
miscellaneous and unarranged, were both rich and uncommon, and more than
any one or she herself knew. Perhaps such a mind thus left to itself knew
a more free and luxuriant growth than could ever have flourished within
the confinement of rules. Perhaps a plant at once so strong and so
delicate was safest without the hand of the dresser. At all events it was
permitted to spring and to put forth all its native gracefulness alike
unhindered and unknown. Cherished as little Fleda dearly was, her mind
kept company with no one but herself,--and Hugh. As to externals,--music
was uncommonly loved by both the children, and by both cultivated with
great success. So much came under Mrs. Rossitur's knowledge. Also every
foreign Signor and Madame that came into the house to teach them spoke
with enthusiasm of the apt minds and flexile tongues that honoured their
instructions. In private and in public the gentle, docile, and
affectionate children answered every wish both of taste and judgment. And
perhaps, in a world where education is _not_ understood, their guardians
might be pardoned for taking it for granted that all was right where
nothing appeared that was wrong; certainly they took no pains to make sure
of the fact. In this case, one of a thousand, their neglect was not
punished with disappointment. They never found out that Hugh's mind wanted
the strengthening that early skilful training might have given it. His
intellectual tastes were not so strong as Fleda's; his reading was more
superficial; his gleanings not so sound and in far fewer fields, and they
went rather to nourish sentiment and fancy than to stimulate thought or
lay up food for it. But his parents saw nothing of this.
The third winter had not passed, when Fleda's discernment saw that Mr.
Sweden, as she called him, the German gentleman, would not cease coming to
the house till he had carried off Marion with him. Her opinion on the
subject was delivered to no one but Hugh.
That winter introduced them to a better acquaintance. One evening Dr.
Gregory, an uncle of Mrs. Rossitur's, had been dining with her and was in
the drawing-room. Mr. Schweden had been there too, and he and Marion and
one or two other young people had gone out to some popular entertainment.
The children knew little of Dr. Gregory but that he was a very
respectable-looking elderly gentleman, a little rough in his manners; the
doctor had not long been returned from a stay of some years in Europe
where he had been collecting rare books for a fine public library, the
charge of which was now entrusted to him. After talking some time with
Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur the doctor pushed round his chair to take a look at
the children.
"So that's Amy's child," said he. "Come here, Amy."
"That is not my name," said the little girl coming forward.
"Isn't it? It ought to be. What is then?"
"Elfleda."
"Elfleda!--Where in the name of all that is auricular did you get such an
outlandish name?"
"My father gave it to me, sir," said Fleda, with a dignified sobriety
which amused the old gentleman.
"Your father!--Hum--I understand. And couldn't your father find a cap that
fitted you without going back to the old-fashioned days of King Alfred?"
"Yes sir; it was my grandmother's cap."
"I am afraid your grandmother's cap isn't all of her that's come down to
you," said he, tapping his snuff-box and looking at her with a curious
twinkle in his eyes. "What do you call yourself? Haven't you some
variations of this tongue-twisting appellative to serve for every day and
save trouble?"
"They call me Fleda," said the little girl, who could not help laughing.
"Nothing better than that?"
Fleda remembered two prettier nick-names which had been hers; but one had
been given by dear lips long ago, and she was not going to have it
profaned by common use; and "Elfie" belonged to Mr. Carleton. She would
own to nothing but Fleda.
"Well, Miss Fleda," said the doctor, "are you going to school?"
"No sir."
"You intend to live without such a vulgar thing as learning?"
"No sir--Hugh and I have our lessons at home."
"Teaching each other, I suppose?"
"O no, sir," said Fleda laughing;--"Mme. Lascelles and Mr.
Schweppenhesser and Signor Barytone come to teach us, besides our
music masters."
"Do you ever talk German with this Mr. What's-his-name who has just gone
out with your cousin Marion?"
"I never talk to him at all, sir."
"Don't you? why not? Don't you like him?"
Fleda said "not particularly," and seemed to wish to let the subject pass,
but the doctor was amused and pressed it.
"Why, why don't you like him?" said he; "I am sure he's a fine looking
dashing gentleman,--dresses as well as anybody, and talks as much as most
people,--why don't you like him? Isn't he a handsome fellow, eh?"
"I dare say he is, to many people," said Fleda.
"She said she didn't think there was any moral expression in his face,"
said Hugh, by way of settling the matter.
"Moral expression!" cried the doctor,--"moral expression!--and what if
there isn't, you Elf!--what if there isn't?"
"I shouldn't care what other kind of expression it had," said Fleda,
colouring a little.
Mr. Rossitur 'pished' rather impatiently. The doctor glanced at his niece,
and changed the subject.
"Well who teaches you English, Miss Fleda? you haven't told me that yet."
"O that we teach ourselves," said Fleda, smiling as if it was a very
innocent question.
"Hum! you do! Pray how do you teach yourselves?"
"By reading, sir."
"Reading! And what do you read? what have you read in the last twelve
months, now?"
"I don't think I could remember all exactly," said Fleda.
"But you have got a list of them all," said Hugh, who chanced to have been
looking over said list of a day or two before and felt quite proud of it.
"Let's have it--let's have it," said the doctor. And Mrs. Rossitur
laughing said "Let's have it;" and even her husband commanded Hugh to go
and fetch it; so poor Fleda, though not a little unwilling, was obliged to
let the list be forthcoming. Hugh brought it, in a neat little book
covered with pink blotting paper.
"Now for it," said the doctor;--"let us see what this English amounts to.
Can you stand fire, Elfleda?"
'Jan. 1. Robinson Crusoe.' [Footnote: A true list made by a child of
that age.]
"Hum--that sounds reasonable, at all events."
"I had it for a New Year present," remarked Fleda, who stood by with
down-cast eyes, like a person undergoing an examination.
'Jan. 2. Histoire de France.'
"What history of France is this?"
Fleda hesitated and then said it was by Lacretelle.
"Lacretelle?--what, of the Revolution?"
"No sir, it is before that; it is in five or six large volumes."
"What, Louis XV's time!" said the doctor muttering to himself.
'Jan. 27. 2. ditto, ditto.'
"'Two' means the second volume I suppose?"
"Yes sir."
"Hum--if you were a mouse you would gnaw through the wall in time at that
rate. This is in the original?"
"Yes sir."
'Feb. 3. Paris. L. E. K.'
"What do these hieroglyphics mean?"
"That stands for the 'Library of Entertaining Knowledge,'" said Fleda.
"But how is this?--do you go hop, skip, and jump through these books, or
read a little and then throw them away? Here it is only seven days since
you began the second volume of Lacretelle--not time enough to get
through it."
"O no, sir," said Fleda smiling,--"I like to have several books that I am
reading in at once,--I mean--at the same time, you know; and then if I am
not in the mood of one I take up another."
"She reads them all through," said Hugh,--"always, though she reads them
very quick."
"Hum--I understand," said the old doctor with a humorous expression, going
on with the list.
'March 3. 3 Hist. de France.'
"But you finish one of these volumes, I suppose, before you begin another;
or do you dip into different parts of the same work at once?"
"O no, sir;--of course not!"
'Mar. 5. Modern Egyptians. L. E. K. Ap. 13.'
"What are these dates on the right as well as on the left?"
"Those on the right shew when I finished the volume."
"Well I wonder what you were cut out for?" said the doctor. "A
Quaker!--you aren't a Quaker, are you?"
"No sir," said Fleda laughing.
"You look like it," said he.
'Feb. 24. Five Penny Magazines, finished Mar. 4,'
"They are in paper numbers, you know, sir."
'April 4. 4 Hist. de F.'
"Let us see--the third volume was finished March 29--I declare you keep
it up pretty well."
'Ap. 19. Incidents of Travel'
"Whose is that?"
"It is by Mr. Stephens."
"How did you like it?"
"O very much indeed."
"Ay, I see you did; you finished it by the first of May. 'Tour to the
Hebrides'--what? Johnson's?"
"Yes sir."
"Read it all fairly through?"
"Yes sir, certainly."
He smiled and went on.
'May 12. Peter Simple!'
There was quite a shout at the heterogeneous character of Fleda's reading,
which she, not knowing exactly what to make of it, heard rather abashed.
"' Peter Simple'!" said the doctor, settling himself to go on with his
list;--"well, let us see.--' World without Souls.' Why you Elf! read in
two days."
"It is very short, you know, sir."
"What did you think of it?"
"I liked parts of it very much."
He went on, still smiling.
'June 15. Goldsmith's Animated Nature.'
'June 18. 1 Life of Washington.'
"What Life of Washington?"
"Marshall's."
"Hum.--'July 9. 2 Goldsmith's An. Na.' As I live, begun the very day the
first volume was finished, did you read the whole of that?"
"O yes, sir. I liked that book very much."
'4 July 12. 5 Hist, de France.'
"Two histories on hand at once! Out of all rule, Miss Fleda! We must look
after you."
"Yes sir; sometimes I wanted to read one, and sometimes I wanted to read
the other."
"And you always do what you want to do, I suppose?"
"I think the reading does me more good in that way."
'July 15. Paley's Natural Theology!'
There was another shout. Poor Fleda's eyes filled with tears.
"What in the world put that book into your head, or before your eyes?"
said the doctor.
"I don't know, sir,--I thought I should like to read it," said Fleda,
drooping her eyelids that the bright drops under them might not be seen.
"And finished in eleven days, as I live!" said the doctor wagging his
head. 'July 19. 3 Goldsmith's A. N.' 'Aug. 6. 4 Do. Do.'"
"That is one of Fleda's favourite books," put in Hugh.
"So it seems. '6 Hist. de France.'--What does this little cross mean?"
"That shews when the book is finished," said Fleda, looking on the
page,--"the last volume, I mean."
"'Retrospect of Western Travel'--'Goldsmith's A. N., last vol.'--'Memoirs
de Sully'--in the French?"
"Yes sir."
"'Life of Newton'--What's this?--'Sep. 8. 1 Fairy Queen!'--not
Spenser's?"
"Yes sir, I believe so--the Fairy Queen, in five volumes."
The doctor looked up comically at his niece and her husband, who were both
sitting or standing close by.
"'Sep. 10. Paolo e Virginia.'--In what language?"
"Italian, sir; I was just beginning, and I haven't finished it yet."
"'Sep. 16. Milner's Church History'!--What the deuce!--'Vol. 2. Fairy
Queen.'--Why this must have been a favourite book too."
"That's one of the books Fleda loves best," said Hugh;--"she went through
that very fast."
"_Over_ it, you mean, I reckon; how much did you skip, Fleda?"
"I didn't skip at all," said Fleda; "I read every word of it."
"'Sep. 20. 2 Mem. de Sully.'--Well, you're an industrious mouse, I'll say
that for you.--What's this--'Don Quixotte!'--'Life of Howard.'--'Nov. 17.
3 Fairy Queen.'--'Nov. 29. 4 Fairy Queen.'--'Dec. 8. 1 Goldsmith's
England.'--Well if this list of books is a fair exhibit of your taste and
capacity, you have a most happily proportioned set of intellectuals. Let
us see--History, fun, facts, nature, theology, poetry and divinity!--upon
my soul!--and poetry and history the leading features!--a little fun,--as
much as you could lay your hand on I'll warrant, by that pinch in the
corner of your eye. And here, the eleventh of December, you finished the
Fairy Queen;--and ever since, I suppose, you have been imagining yourself
the 'faire Una,' with Hugh standing for Prince Arthur or the Red-cross
knight,--haven't you?"
"No sir. I didn't imagine anything about it."
"Don't tell me! What did you read it for?"
"Only because I liked it, sir. I liked it better than any other book I
read last year."
"You did! Well, the year ends, I see, with another volume of Sully. I
won't enter upon this year's list. Pray how much of all these volumes do
you suppose you remember? I'll try and find out, next time I come to see
you. I can give a guess, if you study with that little pug in your lap."
"He is not a pug!" said Fleda, in whose arms King was lying
luxuriously,--"and he never gets into my lap besides."
[Illustration: "He is not a pug."]
"Don't he! Why not?"
"Because I don't like it, sir. I don't like to see dogs in laps."
"But all the ladies in the land do it, you little Saxon! it is universally
considered a mark of distinction."
"I can't help what all the ladies in the land do," said Fleda. "That won't
alter my liking, and I don't think a lady's lap is a place for a dog."
"I wish you were _my_ daughter!" said the old doctor, shaking his head
at her with a comic fierce expression of countenance, which Fleda
perfectly understood and laughed at accordingly. Then as the two
children with the dog went off into the other room, he said, turning to
his niece and Mr. Rossitur,
"If that girl ever takes a wrong turn with the bit in her teeth, you'll be
puzzled to hold her. What stuff will you make the reins of?"
"I don't think she ever will take a wrong turn," said Mr. Rossitur.
"A look is enough to manage her, if she did," said his wife. "Hugh is not
more gentle."
"I should be inclined rather to fear her not having stability of character
enough," said Mr. Rossitur. "She is so very meek and yielding, I almost
doubt whether anything would give her courage to take ground of her own
and keep it."
"Hum------well, well!" said the old doctor, walking off after the
children. "Prince Arthur, will you bring this damsel up to my den some of
these days?--the 'faire Una' is safe from the wild beasts, you know;--and
I'll shew her books enough to build herself a house with, if she likes."
The acceptance of this invitation led to some of the pleasantest hours of
Fleda's city life. The visits to the great library became very frequent.
Dr. Gregory and the children were little while in growing fond of each
other; he loved to see them and taught them to come at such times as the
library was free of visitors and his hands of engagements. Then he
delighted himself with giving them pleasure, especially Fleda, whose quick
curiosity and intelligence were a constant amusement to him. He would
establish the children in some corner of the large apartments, out of the
way behind a screen of books and tables; and there shut out from the world
they would enjoy a kind of fairyland pleasure over some volume or set of
engravings that they could not see at home. Hours and hours were spent so.
Fleda would stand clasping her hands before Audubon, or rapt over a finely
illustrated book of travels, or going through and through with Hugh the
works of the best masters of the pencil and the graver. The doctor found
he could trust them, and then all the treasures of the library were at
their disposal. Very often he put chosen pieces of reading into their
hands; and it was pleasantest of all when he was not busy and came and sat
down with them; for with all his odd manner he was extremely kind and
could and did put them in the way to profit greatly by their
opportunities. The doctor and the children had nice times there together.
They lasted for many months, and grew more and more worth. Mr. Schweden
carried off Marion, as Fleda had foreseen he would, before the end of
spring; and after she was gone something like the old pleasant Paris life
was taken up again. They had no more company now than was agreeable, and
it was picked not to suit Marion's taste but her father's,--a very
different matter. Fleda and Hugh were not forbidden the dinner-table, and
so had the good of hearing much useful conversation from which the former,
according to custom, made her steady precious gleanings. The pleasant
evenings in the family were still better enjoyed than they used to he;
Fleda was older; and the snug handsome American house had a home-feeling
to her that the wide Parisian saloons never knew. She had become bound to
her uncle and aunt by all but the ties of blood; nobody in the house ever
remembered that she was not born their daughter; except indeed Fleda
herself, who remembered everything, and with whom the forming of any new
affections or relations somehow never blotted out or even faded the
register of the old. It lived in all its brightness; the writing of past
loves and friendships was as plain as ever in her heart; and often, often,
the eye and the kiss of memory fell upon it. In the secret of her heart's
core; for still, as at the first, no one had a suspicion of the movings of
thought that were beneath that childish brow. No one guessed how clear a
judgment weighed and decided upon many things. No one dreamed, amid their
busy, hustling, thoughtless life, how often, in the street, in her bed, in
company and alone, her mother's last prayer was in Fleda's heart; well
cherished; never forgotten.
Her education and Hugh's meanwhile went on after the old fashion. If Mr.
Rossitur had more time he seemed to have no more thought for the matter;
and Mrs. Rossitur, fine-natured as she was, had never been trained to
self-exertion, and of course was entirely out of the way of training
others. Her children were pieces of perfection, and needed no oversight;
her house was a piece of perfection too. If either had not been, Mrs.
Rossitur would have been utterly at a loss how to mend matters,--except in
the latter instance by getting a new housekeeper; and as Mrs. Renney, the
good woman who held that station, was in everybody's opinion another
treasure, Mrs. Rossitur's mind was uncrossed by the shadow of such a
dilemma. With Mrs. Renney as with every one else Fleda was held in highest
regard; always welcome to her premises and to those mysteries of her trade
which were sacred from other intrusion.
Fleda's natural inquisitiveness carried her often to the housekeeper's
room, and made her there the same curious and careful observer that she
had been in the library or at the Louvre.
"Come," said Hugh one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs.
Renney's precincts,--"come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and
see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?"
"My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda,--"you don't understand quelquechoses.
How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day."
"By making what?" said Hugh.
"Quelquechoses,--anglicé, kickshaws,--alias, sweet trifles denominated
merrings."
"Pshaw, Fleda!"
"Miss Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh,
isn't she?" said the housekeeper.
"I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda laughingly as she
followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth
sufficiently near.
Those years in New York were a happy time for little Fleda, a time when
mind and body flourished under the sun of prosperity. Luxury did not spoil
her; and any one that saw her in the soft furs of her winter wrappings
would have said that delicate cheek and frame were never made to know the
unkindliness of harsher things.