He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit i' the centre and enjoy bright day.
Milton.
The farming plan succeeded beyond Fleda's hopes; thanks not more to her
wisdom than to the nice tact with which the wisdom was brought into play.
The one was eked out with Seth Plumfield's; the other was all her own.
Seth was indefatigably kind and faithful. After his own day's work was
done he used to walk down to see Fleda, go with her often to view the
particular field or work just then in question, and give her the best
counsel dictated by great sagacity and great experience. It was given too
with equal frankness and intelligence, so that Fleda knew the steps she
took and could maintain them against the prejudice or the ignorance of her
subordinates. But Fleda's delicate handling stood her yet more in stead
than her strength. Earl Douglass was sometimes unmanageable, and held out
in favour of an old custom or a prevailing opinion in spite of all the
weight of testimony and light of discovery that could be brought to bear
upon him. Fleda would let the thing go. But seizing her opportunity
another time she would ask him to try the experiment, on a piece of the
ground; so pleasantly and skilfully that Earl could do nothing but shut
his mouth and obey, like an animal fairly stroked into good humour. And as
Fleda always forgot to remind him that she had been right and he wrong, he
forgot it too, and presently took to the new way kindly. In other matters
he could be depended on, and the seed-time and harvest prospered well.
There was hope of making a good payment to Dr. Gregory in the course of a
few months.
As the spring came forward Fleda took care that her garden should,--both
gardens indeed. There she and Philetus had the game in their own hands,
and beautifully it was managed. Hugh had full occupation at the mill. Many
a dollar this summer was earned by the loads of fine fruit and vegetables
which Philetus carried to Montepoole; and accident opened a new source of
revenue. When the courtyard was in the full blaze of its beauty, one day
an admiring passer-by modestly inquired if a few of those exquisite
flowers might be had for money. They were given him most cheerfully that
time; but the demand returned, accompanied by the offer, and Fleda obliged
herself not to decline it. A trial it was to cut her roses and jessamines
for anything but her own or her friends' pleasure, but according to custom
she bore it without hesitation. The place became a resort for all the
flower-lovers who happened to be staying at the Pool; and rose-leaves were
changed into silver pennies as fast as in a fairy-tale.
But the delicate mainspring that kept all this machinery in order suffered
from too severe a strain. There was too much running, too much
considering, too much watchfulness. In the garden pulling peas and seeing
that Philetus weeded the carrots right,--in the field or the woodyard
consulting and arranging or maybe debating with Earl Douglass, who
acquired by degrees an unwonted and concentrated respect for womankind in
her proper person; breakfast waiting for her often before she came in; in
the house her old housewifery concerns, her share in Barby's cares or
difficulties, her sweet countenancing and cheering of her aunt, her
dinner, her work;--then when evening came, budding her roses or tying her
carnations or weeding or raking the ground between them, (where Philetus
could do nothing,) or training her multiflora and sweet-briar
branches;--and then often after all, walking up to the mill to give Hugh a
little earlier a home smile and make his way down pleasant. No wonder if
the energies which owed much of their strength to love's nerving, should
at last give out, and Fleda's evening be passed in wearied slumbers. No
wonder if many a day was given up to the forced quietude of a headache,
the more grievous to Fleda because she knew that her aunt and Hugh always
found the day dark that was not lightened by her sunbeam. How brightly it
shone out the moment the cloud of pain was removed, winning the shadow
from their faces and a smile to their lips, though solitude always saw her
own settle into a gravity as fixed as it was soft.
"You have been doing too much, Fleda," said Mrs. Rossitur one morning when
she came in from the garden.
"I didn't know it would take me so long," said Fleda drawing a long
breath;--"but I couldn't help it. I had those celery plants to prick
out,--and then I was helping Philetus to plant another patch of corn."
"He might have done that without help I should think."
"But it must be put in to-day, and he had other things to do."
"And then you were at your flowers?--"
"O well!--budding a few roses--that's only play. It was time they were
done. But I _am_ tired; and I am going up to see Hugh--it will rest me
and him too."
The gardening frock and gloves were exchanged for those of ordinary wear,
and Fleda set off slowly to go up to the saw-mill.
She stopped a moment when she came upon the bridge, to look off to the
right where the waters of the little run came hurrying along through a
narrow wooded chasm in the hill, murmuring to her of the time when a
little child's feet had paused there and a child's heart danced to its
music. The freshness of its song was unchanged, the glad rush of its
waters was as joyous as ever, but the spirits were quieted that used to
answer it with sweeter freshness and lighter joyousness. Its faint echo of
the old-time laugh was blended now in Fleda's ear with a gentle wail for
the rushing days and swifter fleeing delights of human life;--gentle,
faint, but clear,--she could hear it very well. Taking up her walk again
with a step yet slower and a brow yet more quiet, she went on till she
came in sight of the little mill; and presently above the noise of the
brook could hear the saw going. To her childish ears what a signal of
pleasure that had always been; and now,--she sighed, and stopping at a
little distance looked for Hugh. He was there; she saw him in a moment
going forward to stop the machinery, the piece of timber in hand having
walked its utmost length up to the saw; she saw him throwing aside the
new-cut board, and adjusting what was left till it was ready for another
march up to headquarters. When it stopped the second time Fleda went
forward. Hugh must have been busy in his own thoughts, for he did not see
her until he had again adjusted the log and set the noisy works in motion.
She stood still. Several huge timbers lay close by, ready for the saw; and
on one of them where he had been sitting Fleda saw his Bible lying open.
As her eye went from it to him it struck her heart with a pang that he
looked tired and that there was a something of delicacy, even of
fragility, in the air of face and figure both.
He came to meet her and welcomed her with a smile that coming upon this
feeling set Fleda's heart a quivering. Hugh's smile was always one of very
great sweetness, though never unshadowed; there was often something
ethereal in its pure gentleness. This time it seemed even sweeter than
usual, but though not sadder, perhaps less sad, Fleda could hardly
command herself to reply to it. She could not at the moment speak; her eye
glanced at his open book.
"Yes, it rests me," he said, answering her.
"Rests you, dear Hugh!--"
He smiled again. "Here is somebody else that wants resting, I am afraid,"
said he, placing her gently on the log; and before she had found anything
to say he went off again to his machinery. Fleda sat looking at him and
trying to clear her bosom of its thick breathing.
"What has brought you up here through the hot sun?" said he, coming back
after he had stopped the saw, and sitting down beside her.
Fleda's lip moved nervously and her eye shunned meeting his. Softly
pushing back the wet hair from his temples, she said,
"I had one of my fits of doing nothing at home--I didn't feel very bright
and thought perhaps you didn't,--so on the principle that two negatives
make an affirmative--"
"I feel bright," said Hugh gently.
Fleda's eye came down to his, which was steady and clear as the reflection
of the sky in Deepwater lake,--and then hers fell lower.
"Why don't you, dear Fleda?"
"I believe I am a little tired," Fleda said, trying but in vain to command
herself and look up,--"and there are states of body when anything almost
is enough to depress one--"
"And what depresses you now?" said he, very steadily and quietly.
"O--I was feeling a little down about things in general," said Fleda in a
choked voice, trying to throw off her load with a long breath;--"it's
because I am tired, I suppose--"
"I felt so too, a little while ago," said Hugh. "But I have concluded to
give all that up, Fleda."
Fleda looked at him. Her eyes were swimming full, but his were clear and
gentle as ever, only glistening a little in sympathy with hers.
"I thought all was going wrong with us," he went on. "But I found it was
only I that was wrong; and since that I have been quite happy, Fleda."
Fleda could not speak to him; his words made her pain worse.
"I told you this rested me," said he reaching across her for his book;
"and now I am never weary long. Shall I rest you with it? What have you
been troubling yourself about to-day?"
She did not answer while he was turning over the leaves, and he then said,
"Do you remember this, Fleda?--'_Truly God is good to Israel, even to them
that are of a clean heart_.'"
Fleda bent her head down upon her hands.
"I was moody and restless the other day," said Hugh,--"desponding of
everything;--and I came upon this psalm; and it made me ashamed of myself.
I had been disbelieving it, and because I could not see how things were
going to work good I thought they were going to work evil. I thought we
were wearing out our lives alone here in a wearisome way, and I forgot
that it must be the very straightest way that we could get home. I am sure
we shall not want anything that will do us good; and the rest I am willing
to want--and so are you, Fleda?"
Fleda squeezed his hand,--that was all. For a minute he was silent, and
then went on, without any change of tone.
"I had a notion awhile ago that I should like it if it were possible for
me to go to college; but I am quite satisfied now. I have good time and
opportunity to furnish myself with a better kind of knowledge, that I
shall want where college learning wouldn't be of much use to me; and I can
do it, I dare say, better here in this mill than if we had stayed in New
York and I had lived in our favourite library."
"But dear Hugh," said Fleda, who did not like this speech in any sense of
it,--"the two things do not clash. The better man the better Christian
always, other things being equal. The more precious kind of knowledge
should not make one undervalue the less?"
"No,"--he said; but the extreme quietness and simplicity of his reply
smote Fleda's fears; it answered her words and waived her thought; she
dared not press him further. She sat looking over the road with an
aching heart.
"You haven't taken enough of my medicine," said Hugh smiling. "Listen,
Fleda--'_All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth unto such as keep
his covenant and his testimonies_.'"
But that made Fleda cry again.
"'All his paths,' Fleda--then, whatever may happen to you, and whatever
may happen to me, or to any of us.--I can trust him. I am willing any
one should have the world, if I may have what Abraham had--'_Fear not;
I am thy shield and thy exceeding great reward;_'--and I believe I
shall, Fleda; for it is not the hungry that he has threatened to send
empty away."
Fleda could say nothing, and Hugh just then said no more. For a little
while, near and busy as thoughts might be, tongues were silent. Fleda was
crying quietly, the utmost she could do being to keep it quiet; Hugh, more
quietly, was considering again the strong pillars on which he had laid his
hope, and trying their strength and beauty; till all other things were to
him as the mist rolling off from the valley is to the man planted on a
watch tower.
His meditations were interrupted by the tramp of horse, and a party of
riders male and female came past them up the hill. Hugh looked on as they
went by; Fleda's head was not raised.
"There are some people enjoying themselves," said Hugh. "After all, dear
Fleda, we should be very sorry to change places with those gay riders. I
would not for a thousand worlds give my hope and treasure for all other
they can possibly have, in possession or prospect."
"No, indeed!" said Fleda energetically, and trying to rouse herself;--"and
besides that, Hugh, we have as it is a great deal more to enjoy than most
other people. We are so happy--"
In each other, she was going to say, but the words choked her.
"Those people looked very hard at us, or at one of us," said Hugh. "It
must have been you, I think, Fleda"
"They are welcome," said Fleda; "they couldn't have made much out of the
back of my sun bonnet."
"Well, dear Fleda, I must content myself with little more than looking at
you now, for Mr. Winegar is in a hurry for his timber to be sawn, and I
must set this noisy concern a going again."
Fleda sat and watched him, with rising and falling hopes and fears,
forcing her lips to a smile when he came near her, and hiding her tears at
other times; till the shadows stretching well to the east of the meridian,
admonished her she had been there long enough; and she left him still
going backward and forward tending the saw.
As she went down the hill she pressed involuntarily her hands upon her
heart, for the dull heavy pain there. But that was no plaster for it;
and when she got to the bridge the soft singing of the little brook was
just enough to shake her spirits from the doubtful poise they had kept.
Giving one hasty glance along the road and up the hill to make sure that
no one was near she sat down on a stone in the edge of the woods, and
indulged in such weeping as her gentle eyes rarely knew; for the habit
of patience so cultivated for others' sake constantly rewarded her own
life with its sweet fruits. But deep and bitter in proportion was the
flow of the fountain once broken up. She struggled to remind herself
that "Providence runneth not on broken wheels," she struggled to repeat
to herself, what she did not doubt that "_all_ the ways of the Lord are
mercy and truth" to his people;--in vain. The slight check for a moment
to the torrent of grief but gave it greater head to sweep over the
barrier; and the self-reproach that blamed its violence and needlessness
only made the flood more bitter. Nature fought against patience for
awhile; but when the loaded heart had partly relieved itself patience
came in again and she rose up to go home. It startled her exceedingly to
find Mr. Olmney standing before her, and looking so sorrowful that
Fleda's eyes could not bear it.
"My dear Miss Ringgan!--forgive me--I hope you will forgive me,--but I
could not leave you in such distress. I knew that in _you_ it could only
be from some very serious cause of grief."
"I cannot say it is from anything new, Mr. Olmney--except to my
apprehensions."
"You are all _well_?" he said inquiringly, after they had walked a few
steps in silence.
"Well?--yes, sir,--" said Fleda hesitatingly,--"but I do not think that
Hugh looks very well."
The trembling of her voice told him her thought. But he remained silent.
"You have noticed it?" she said hastily, looking up.
"I think you have told me he always was delicate?"
"And you have noticed him looking so lately, Mr. Olmney?"
"I have thought so,--but you say he always was that. If you will permit me
to say so, I have thought the same of you, Miss Fleda."
Fleda was silent; her heart ached again.
"We would gladly save each other from every threatening trouble," said Mr.
Olmney again after a pause;--"but it ought to content us that we do not
know how. Hugh is in good hands, my dear Miss Ringgan."
"I know it, sir," said Fleda unable quite to keep back her tears,--"and I
know very well this thread of our life will not bear the strain
always,--and I know that the strands must in all probability part
unevenly,--and I know it is in the power of no blind fate,--but that--"
"Does not lessen our clinging to each other. Oh no!--it grows but the
tenderer and the stronger for the knowledge."
Fleda could but cry.
"And yet," said he very kindly,--"we who are Christians may and ought to
learn to take troubles hopefully; for 'tribulation worketh patience; and
patience,' that is, quiet waiting on God, 'works experience' of his
goodness and faithfulness; 'and experience worketh hope; and that hope, we
know, 'maketh not ashamed.'"
"I know it," said Fleda;--"but, Mr. Olmney, how easily the brunt of a new
affliction breaks down all that chain of reasoning!"
"Yes!--" he said sadly and thoughtfully;--"but my dear Miss Fleda, you
know the way to build it up again. I would be very glad to bear all need
for it away from you!"
They had reached the gate. Fleda could not look up to thank him; the hand
she held out was grasped, more than kindly, and he turned away.
Fleda's tears came hot again as she went up the walk; she held her head
down to hide them and went round the back way.