Nobody

"Precisely; your being in it redeems it from that character."

"I do not think so. I am afraid you are preparing trouble for yourself; but your heart cannot be much in it yet!"

"Don't swear that," he said.

"Well, it cannot, surely. Love will grow on scant fare, I acknowledge; but it must have a little."

"It has had a little. But you are hardly to give it that name yet. Say,a fancy."

"Sensible men do not do such things for a fancy. Why, Philip, suppose Iam able to do my part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how Iam even to set about it I have at present no idea; I cannot assume thatthese young women are ignorant, and say I have come to give them aneducation! But suppose I find a way, and suppose I succeed; what then?You will be no nearer your aim – perhaps not so near."

"Perhaps not," he said carelessly.

"Phil, it's a very crazy business! I wouldn't go into it, only I am soselfish, and the plan is so magnificent for me."

"That is enough to recommend it. Now I want you to let me know, fromtime to time, what I can send you that will either tend to yourcomfort, or help the work we have in view. Will you?"

"But where are you going to be? I thought you were going to Europe?"

"Not till spring. I shall be in New York this winter."

"But you will not come to – what is the name of the place – where I amgoing?" she asked earnestly.

"No," said he, smiling. "Shall I send you a piano?"

"A piano! Is music intended to be in the programme? What should I dowith a piano?"

"That you would find out. But you are so fond of music – it would be acomfort, and I have no doubt it would be a help."

Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked alittle sparkle of amusement.

"Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea to play? Or to sing?"

"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate."

"Which is she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am Ito know the person in whom I am to be interested?"

"By the interest."

"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very madscheme, Philip – a very mad scheme! Here you have got me – who ought tobe wiser – into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do notapprove of romance, and not at all of making it."

"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke ofthe bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am.Good-bye! Write me, won't you?"

The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell tomeditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely mistyand doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, northe means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going tobe his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly becauseshe liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of herhusband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such temptingadvantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that ifPhilip could not get her help he was more than likely to find someother which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thoughtthat her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, shewould undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she hadundertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn hadbeen taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained witenough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brainscannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and hermission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, one thing was certain – Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing thatdemands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or getup a fancy for some one else. Time was everything.

So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of herjourney, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing ofthe country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After theSound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields andvillages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing speciallypicturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts thatled her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and thereason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow – "Here's yourplace, ma'am – Shampuashuh."

Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took herbag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun wasalready down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with along platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, greencountry. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their wayhomewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waitingfor the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find somerailway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; awoman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip.

"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have comeafter you."

"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?"

"You are going to the Lothrops' house, ain't you? I thought so. It'sall right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'emI'd come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins wouldn't be here.Is that your trunk? – Mr. Lifton, won't you have the goodness to getthis into my buggy? it's round at the other side. Now, will you come?"

This last to Mrs. Barclay. And, following her new friend, she and herbaggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and theowner of it got into her place and drove off.

The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes whichimpress one immediately with this feature in their character. A widegrassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice oftracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and eleganceto the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on bothsides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool freshair, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness – stillness thattold of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for theplace involuntarily.

"They're lookin' for you," the driving lady began.

"Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day."

"They'll do all they can to make you comfortable; and if there'sanything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything thatcan be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and thegirls never took in a lodger before. But they'll do what they can."

"I hope I shall not be very exacting."

"Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to know it. That is! – we don'thave much of the high-flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castletown, and I'm quite willin' they should; but in summer we have quite asprinklin' of people that want country and the sea; and they most of'em stay right along, from the beginning of the season to the end ofit. We don't often have 'em come in November, though."

"I suppose not."

"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "I thinkthey're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have itvery cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we havehere is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and hiseyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there'ssomethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down inFlorida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me Iwouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see thesnow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here weare. Mr. Starks!" – addressing a man who was going along the sideway – "hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down – won't you bear ahand?"

This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting theheavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs toits destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclaydescended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat.

"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in – you'll find somebody, and they'lltake care of you."

Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yardsto the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with aporch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in thedoorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with agrave, sweet, innocent charm, and a manner which surprised the lady.Mrs. Barclay looked, in a sort of fascination.

"We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. "It is Mrs. Barclay, Isuppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I willshow you right up to your room."

"Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who are you?"

"I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about you. Now, here is your room; and here is your trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks. – What can I do for you?Tea will be ready presently."

"You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought I not to pay him for histrouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks.

"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He isvery well off indeed; has a farm of his own, and makes it valuable."

"He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. Is it a generalcharacteristic of Shampuashuh?"

"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, Iwill show you your other room."

Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. Theroom was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies andold-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place waspleasant. But the girl! – O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, haveyou lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I canunderstand it; but what will come of it!

Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged forher sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeousdrawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintzcurtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a huewhich did not clash violently with the hue of the draperies; plain, dark furniture; and a blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed,

"Delightful! O, delightful! Is this my room, did you say? It is quitecharming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?"

"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Loissimply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sistersare afraid you will not like our country way of living."

"Are you the housekeeper?"

"No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again; "I am the gardener andthe out-of-doors woman generally; the man of business of the house."

"That is a rather hard place for a woman to fill, sometimes."

"It is easy here, and where people have so little out-of-door businessas we have."

She arranged the fire and shut the shutters of the windows; Mrs.Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a prettyfigure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quietself-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And theface, – but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It wasnot the fair features; they were fair, but she had seen others asfair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had neverseen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connectionwith shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, which had nothing to do with external position or internalconsciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of achild, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mentalpower. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, thedress and the apron were of a style – well, of no style; the plainestattire of a plain country girl.

"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like tocome out at once, and see the rest of the family?"

"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Loisopened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of thefamily. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair.

"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up.

"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you."

Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyedthe room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, andvarious little tokens of domestic occupation.

"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!"

"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "butthat room has only a grate."

"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the newguest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire."

"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says."

"Miss Lois has been to the great city, then?"

"Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wishart, likes to have her, and Lois was there quite a spell last winter; but I expect that's theend of it. I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life."

"Why should she?"

"Here's where her work is," said the old lady; "and one is best whereone's work is."

"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were aman, I think I should fall in love with her."

"She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Armadale, with a fine smile.

"No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the smile; "but – youknow, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away withthem, when the right person comes."

"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort oftender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay'sthoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, andLois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of hersisters bearing a plate of butter.

"Another beauty!" thought Mrs. Barclay, as Madge was presented to her."Which is which, I wonder?" This was a beauty of quite another sort.Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft under long lashes, awhite brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband inher black hair, while Lois's red-brown masses were soft, and fluffy, and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had thequietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity whichseemed – to Mrs. Barclay's fancy – to set Lois apart from the rest ofyoung women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. OPhilip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have youbrought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to putmy fingers in. These girls! —

But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay feltsome amusement at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, ahandsome old woman. She had never been a handsome young one; bony, angular, strong, not gracious; although the expression of calm sense, and character, and the handwriting of life-work, and the dignity ofmental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worthlooking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had theplainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was notwanting.

The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxioushospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, thebetter, thought Mrs. Barclay. So she began.

"Your village looks to me like a quiet place."

"That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale.

"Especially in winter, I suppose?"

"Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," the old lady went on."They've got a hotel now for strangers, down at the Point – but thatain't the village."

"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois.

"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter daysand nights?"

"Nothing," said Charity.

"Really? Are there no amusements? I never heard of such a place."

"I don't know what you mean by amusements," Mrs. Armadale took up thesubject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amusement there is. Inever wanted no other."

"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All workand no play' – you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous."

"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dullhere. I don't mean that they are very lively; but they are not dull."

"Is there a library here?"

"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, and pass round to each other's houses."

"Then it is not much of a reading community?"

"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good manybooks in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have asmuch as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in needof no more."

"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are theysheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of theworld? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thoughtit looked like a haven of peace, where people could not haveheartbreaks."

"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady saidsolemnly.

The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs.Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk drop.

CHAPTER XXI

GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS

Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all thearrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. Thenext morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and onchimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river whichwas visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, andat the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed andwent down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlightstreaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her.

"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortablerocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at mywork!" – Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose.

"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left myduster – "

Has she been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegantcreature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if shewere busy.

"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something ofme?"

"Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get acquain'ted."

Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleasantly ready.

"I am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble! If you get tiredof me, you must just let me know. Will you?"

"There is no fear," Lois assured her. "We are very glad to have you. Ifonly you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after whatyou have been accustomed to."

"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the airhere is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up thesalt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those oldelms are over the way! I could hardly get dressed, for looking at them.Do you draw?"

"I? O no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, of course, but I havelearned only common things. I do not know anything about drawing."

"Perhaps you will let me teach you?"

The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made no answer at first, and then murmured, "You are very kind!"

"One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar clay said. "I cannot letall your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; ithas whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep arecord of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes."

"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should thinkthat would be delightful for the people who travel."

"You will travel some day."

"No, there is no hope of that."

"You would like it, then?"

"O, who would not like it! I went with Mrs. Wishart to the Isles ofShoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notionwhat a place the world is."

"And what a place do you think it is?"

"O, so wonderfully full of beautiful things – so full! so full! – and ofsuch different beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and theSound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spokewith a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accentto her words.

"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclaycarelessly, but watching her.

"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of theworld of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh andpowerful and beautiful – it all comes back to me now, when I think ofthe surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and thefeeling of the air."

"But how were the people? were they uncommon too? Part of one'simpression is apt to come from the human side of the thing."

"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city peoplestaying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all."

"Why not?"

"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unlessthey were told of it; nor then either."

"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs.Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shallnot be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too."

"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge everthought of such a thing."

"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?"

"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that."

"You are fond of reading? I have brought a few books with me, which Ihope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by."

"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression ofpleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt wecould hardly spare the money."

They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again withfresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptivereadiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, andself-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to beread in the face and manner of each one; good ground to work upon.Still Mrs. Barclay privately shook her head at her task.

"Miss Madge," she said suddenly, "I have been proposing to teach yoursister to draw. Would you like to join her?"

Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spokeup and asked, "To draw what?"

"Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places."

"I don't see what's the use. When you've got a pretty thing, whatshould you draw it for?"

"Suppose you have not got it."

"Then you can't draw it," said Charity.

"O Charity, you don't understand," cried Lois. "If I had known how todraw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoalslast summer."

"They wouldn't have been like."

Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging thequestion.

"What question?" said Charity.

"I mean, you are assuming a thing without evidence."

"It don't need evidence," said Charity. "I never saw a picture yet thatwas worth a red cent. It's only a make-believe."

"Then you will not join our drawing class, Miss Charity?"

"No; and I should think Madge had better stick to her sewing. There'splenty to do."

"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and I shouldn't think dutywould leave much time for making marks on paper."

The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some ofher books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized herto write to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to youuntil I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so muchalready that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relievemyself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is the one? Is it theblack-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features?she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she isless handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of themhave capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictlyreligious sort; I see that; the old grandmother is a regular Puritan, and the girls follow her lead; and I am in a confused state of mindthinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do withsuch a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; atleast you know I think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, andthis little girl is. I do not mean to say anything against her; only, you want me to make a woman of the world out of the girl – and I doubtmuch whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; itis a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certaincases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material towhich it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who woulddisapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldlyplans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? Ihave indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; butI cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will saywhen they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking yourmoney on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which maysucceed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Thinkbetter of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for thepeople please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be veryagreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is noviolent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, youcannot marry a Puritan."