Nobody

"I do my work," said Lois gaily.

"Child, your head's gettin' turned. Mother, do you know the way Madgeand Lois are goin' on?"

"I don't understand it," said Mrs. Armadale.

"I understand it. And I'll tell you. I like learning, – nobody better; but I want things kept in their places. And I tell you, if this is letto go on, it'll be like Jack's bean vine, and not stop at the top ofthe house; and they'll be like Jack, and go after to see, and nevercome back to common ground any more."

Mrs. Armadale sat looking unenlightened. Madge, who had come in midwayof this speech, stood indignant.

"Aunt Anne, that's not like you! You read as much yourself as ever youcan; and never can get books enough."

"I stick to English."

"English or French, what's the odds?"

"What was good enough for your fathers and mothers ought to be goodenough for you."

"That won't do, aunt Anne," retorted Madge. "You were wanting a

Berkshire pig a while ago, and I heard you talking of 'shorthorns.'"

"That's it. I'd like to hear you talking of shorthorns."

"If it is necessary, I could," said Lois; "but there are pleasanterthings to talk about."

"There you are! But pictures won't help Madge make butter; and Frenchis no use in a garden. It's all very well for some people, I suppose; but, mother, if these girls go on, they'll be all spoiled for theirplace in life. This lodger of yours is trying to make 'em like herself."

"I wish she could!" said Madge.

"That's it, mother; that's what I say. But she's one thing, and they'reanother; she lives in her world, which ain't Shampuashuh by a longjump, and they live in Shampuashuh, and have got to live there. Ain'tit a pity to get their heads so filled with the other things thatthey'll be for ever out o' conceit o' their own?"

"It don't work so, aunt Anne," said Lois.

"It will work so. What use can all these krinkum-krankums be to you?Shampuashuh ain't the place for 'em. You'll be like the girl that got anew bonnet, and had to sit with her head out o' window to wear it."

Madge's cheeks grew red. Lois laughed.

"Daughter," said Mrs. Armadale, "'seems to me you are making a storm ina teapot."

Mrs. Marx laughed at that; then became quite serious again.

"I ain't doin' that," she said. "I never do. And I've no enmity againstall manner of fiddle-faddling, if folks have got nothin' better to do.But 'tain't so with our girls. They work for their livin', and they'vegot to work; and what I say is, they're in a way to get to hate work,if they don't despise it, and in my judgment that's a poor business.It's going the wrong way to be happy. Mother, they ought to marryfarmers; and they won't look at a farmer in all Shampuashuh, if you let'em go on."

Lois remarked merrily that she did not want to look at a man anywhere.

"Then you ought. It's time. I'd like to see you married to a good, solid man, who would learn you to talk of shorthorns and Berkshires.Life's life, chickens; and it ain't the tinkle of a piano. All wellenough for your neighbour in the other room; but you're a differentsort."

Privately, Lois did not want to be of a different sort. The refinement, the information, the accomplishments, the grace of manner, which in ahigh degree belonged to Mrs. Barclay, seemed to her very desirablepossessions and endowments; and the mental life of a person so enrichedand gifted, appeared to her far to be preferred over a horizon boundedby cheese and bed-quilts. Mrs. Marx was not herself a narrow-mindedwoman, or one wanting in appreciation of knowledge and culture; but shewas also a shrewd business woman, and what she had seen at the Isles ofShoals had possibly given her a key wherewith to find her way throughcertain problems. She was not sure but Lois had been a little touchedby the attentions of that very handsome, fair-haired and elegantgentleman who had done Mrs. Marx the honour to take her into hisconfidence; she was jealous lest all this study of things unneeded inShampuashuh life might have a dim purpose of growing fitness for someother. There she did Lois wrong, for no distant image of Mr. Carutherswas connected in her niece's mind with the delight of the newacquirements she was making; although Tom Caruthers had done his part,I do not doubt, towards Lois's keen perception of the beauty andadvantage of such acquirements. She was not thinking of Tom, when shemade her copies and studied her verbs; though if she had never knownthe society in which she met Tom and of which he was a member, shemight not have taken hold of them so eagerly.

"Mother," she said when Mrs. Marx was gone, "are you afraid these newthings will make me forget my duties, or make me unfit for them?"

Mrs. Armadale's mind was a shade more liberal than her daughter's, andshe had not been at the Isles of Shoals. She answered somewhathesitatingly,

"No, child – I don't know as I am. I don't see as they do. I don't seewhat use they will be to you; but maybe they'll be some."

"They are pleasure," said Lois.

"We don't live for pleasing ourselves, child."

"No, mother; but don't you think, if duties are not neglected, that weought to educate ourselves all we can, and get all of every sort ofgood that we can, when we have the opportunity?"

"To be sure," said Mrs. Armadale; "if it ain't a temptation, it's aprovidence. Maybe you'll find a use for it you don't think. Only takecare it ain't a temptation, Lois."

From that time Lois's studies were carried on with more systematicorder. She would not neglect her duties, and the short winter days lefther little spare time of daylight; therefore she rose long beforedaylight came. If anybody had been there to look, Lois might have beenseen at four o'clock in the family room, which this winter rather lostits character of kitchen, seated at the table with her lamp and herbooks; the room warm and quiet, no noise but the snapping of the fireand breathing of the flames, and now and then the fall of a brand. AndLois sitting absorbed and intent, motionless, except when theabove-mentioned falling brands obliged her to get up and put them intheir places. Her drawing she left for another time of day; she coulddo that in company; in these hours she read and wrote French, and readpages and pages of history. Sometimes Madge was there too; but Loisalways, from a very early hour until the dawn was advanced far enoughfor her to see to put Mrs. Barclay's room in order. Then with a sigh ofpleasure Lois would turn down her lamp, and with another breath of hopeand expectation betake herself to the next room to put all things inreadiness for its owner's occupancy and use, which occupancy and useinvolved most delightful hours of reading and talking and instructionby and by. Making the fire, sweeping, brushing, dusting, regulatingchairs and tables and books and trifles, drawing back the curtains andopening the shutters; which last, to be sure, she began with. And thenLois went to do the same offices for the family room, and to set thetable for breakfast; unless Madge had already done it.

And then Lois brought her Bible and read to Mrs. Armadale, who by thistime was in her chair by the fireside, and busy with her knitting. Theknitting was laid down then, however; and Mrs. Armadale loved to takethe book in her hands, upon her lap, while her granddaughter, leaningover it, read to her. They two had it alone; no other meddled withthem. Charity was always in the kitchen at this time, and Madge oftenin her dairy, and neither of them inclined to share in the servicewhich Lois always loved dearly to render. They two, the old and theyoung, would sit wholly engrossed with their reading and their talk, unconscious of what was going on around them; even while Charity andMadge were bustling in and out with the preparations for breakfast.Nothing of the bustle reached Mrs. Armadale or Lois, whose faces atsuch times had a high and sweet and withdrawn look, very lovely tobehold. The hard features and wrinkled lines of the one face made morenoticeable the soft bloom and delicate moulding of the other, while thecontrast enhanced the evident oneness of spirit and interest whichfilled them both. When they were called to breakfast and moved to thetable, then there was a difference. Both, indeed, showed a subduedsweet gravity; but Mrs. Armadale was wont also to be very silent andwithdrawn into herself, or busied with inner communings; while Lois wasready with speech or action for everybody's occasions, and full ofgentle ministry. Mrs. Barclay used to study them both, and bewonderingly busy with the contemplation.

CHAPTER XXIII

A BREAKFAST TABLE

It was Christmas eve. Lois had done her morning work by the lamplight, and was putting the dining-room, or sitting-room rather, in order; whenMadge joined her and began to help.

"Is the other room ready?"

"All ready," said Lois.

"Are you doing that elm tree?"

"Yes."

"How do you get along?"

"I cannot manage it yet, to my satisfaction; but I will. O Madge, isn'tit too delicious?"

"What? the drawing? Isn't it!!"

"I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. I am getting hold ofFrench, and it's delightful. But the books! O Madge, the books! I feelas if I had been a chicken in his shell until now, and as if I werejust getting my eyes open to see what the world is like."

"What is it like?" asked Madge, laughing. "My eyes are shut yet, Isuppose, for I haven't found out. You can tell me."

"Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are shut. Besides, mine areonly getting open."

"What do they see? Come, Lois, tell."

Lois stood still, resting on her broom handle.

"The world seems to me an immense battle-place, where wrong and righthave been struggling; always struggling. And sometimes the wrong seemsto cover the whole earth, like a flood, and there is nothing butconfusion and horror; and then sometimes the floods part and one sees alittle bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers might grow, if theyhad a chance. And in those spots there is generally some great, grandman, who has fought back the flood of wrong and made a clearing."

"Well, I do not understand all that one bit!" said Madge.

"I do not wonder," said Lois, laughing, "I do not understand it veryclearly myself. I cannot blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, thatthe ancient Persians had just that idea of the world being abattle-place, and that wrong and right were fighting; or rather, thatthe Spirit of good and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd wastheir name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman the other. It is verystrange, for that is just the truth."

"Then why is it strange?" said downright Madge.

"Because they were heathen; they did not know the Bible."

"Is that what the Bible says? I didn't know it."

"Why, Madge, yes, you did. You know who is called the 'Prince of thisworld'; and you know Jesus 'was manifested that he might destroy theworks of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign till he has put allenemies under his feet.' But how should those old Persians know somuch, with out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You know, Enochknew?" —

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course they all knew when they cameout of the ark" —

"Who – the Persians?"

Lois broke out into a laugh, and began to move her broom again.

"What have you been reading, to put all this into your head?"

The broom stopped.

"Ancient history, and modern; parts here and there, in different books.

Mrs. Barclay showed me where; and then we have talked" —

Lois began now to sweep vigorously.

"Lois, is she like the people you used to see in New York? I mean, were they all like her?"

"Not all so nice."

"But like her?"

"Not in everything. No, they were not most of them so clever, and mostof them did not know so much, and were not so accomplished."

"But they were like her in other things?"

"No," said Lois, standing still; "she is a head and shoulders abovemost of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what youmean."

"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seemvery stupid to her, Lois."

"Shampuashuh people are not stupid."

"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. Andshe don't want us to be like Mrs. Barclay."

"No danger!" – said Lois, very busy now at her work.

"But wouldn't you like to be like Mrs. Barclay?"

"Yes."

"So would I."

"Well, we can, in the things that are most valuable," said Lois, standing still again for a moment to look at her sister.

"O, yes, books – But I would like to be graceful like Mrs. Barclay. Youwould call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all therest. Her beautiful manners."

"She has beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners canbe taught. They cannot be imitated."

"Why not?"

"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suitanother. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on myface. No, they would not be natural."

"You need not wish for anybody's nose but your own," said Madge."That will do, and so will mine, I'm thankful! But what makes herlook so unhappy, Lois?"

"She does look unhappy."

"She looks as if she had lost all her friends."

"She has got one, here," said Lois, sweeping away.

"But what good can you do her?"

"Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even know the fact."

"She's doing a good deal for us."

A little later, Mrs. Barclay came down to her room. She found it, asalways, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into everycorner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it wascloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that couldbe seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth laybrown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest playof light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings ofbooks, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught intin folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and purple in hue, and again it warmed up the old-fashioned furniture and lost itself in abrown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found themeven in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, thepiles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio ofengravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreigner. She sat in hercomfortable chair before the fire and read her letters, which Lois hadlaid ready for her; and then she was called to breakfast.

Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here too, as she had often donebefore. The old lady, ungainly as her figure and uncomely as her facewere, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of a strong and truecharacter, which with abundant self-respect, had not, and never had, any anxious concern about the opinion of any human being. Whoever feelshimself responsible to the one Great Ruler alone, and does feel thatresponsibility, will be both worthy of respect and sure to have it inhis relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. Barclay paid Mrs.Armadale. Her eye passed on and admired Madge, who was very handsome inher neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois finally with absolutecontentment. Lois was in a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knittedshawl bound round her shoulders in the way children sometimes have, theends crossed on the breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown andwhite was her whole figure, except the rosy flush on cheeks and lips; the masses of fluffy hair were reddish-brown, a shade lighter than herdress. At Charity Mrs. Barclay did not look much, unless for curiosity; she was a study of a different sort.

"What delicious rolls!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Are these your work, Miss

Charity?"

"I can make as good, I guess," said that lady; "but these ain't mine.

Lois made 'em."

"Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "I did not know that this was one of youraccomplishments."

"Is that what you call an accomplishment," said Charity.

"Certainly. What do you mean by it?"

"I thought an accomplishment was something that one could accomplishthat was no use."

"I am sorry you have such an opinion of accomplishments."

"Well, ain't it true? Lois, maybe Mrs. Barclay don't care for sausages.

There's cold meat."

"Your sausages are excellent. I like such sausage very much."

"I always think sausages ain't sausages if they ain't stuffed. AuntAnne won't have the plague of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doingat all, it's worth doing the best way; and there's no comparison in mymind."

"So you judge everything by its utility."

"Don't everybody, that's got any sense?"

"And therefore you condemn accomplishments?"

"Well, I don't see the use. O, if folks have got nothing else to do, and just want to make a flare-up – but for us in Shampuashuh, what's thegood of them? For Lois and Madge, now? I don't make it out."

"You forget, your sisters may marry, and go somewhere else to live; andthen" —

"I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois ain't goin' to marry anybodybut a real godly man, and what use'll her accomplishments be to herthen?"

"Why, just as much use, I hope," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "Why not?The more education a woman has, the more fit she is to content a man ofeducation, anywhere."

"Where's she to get a man of education?" said Charity. "What you meanby that don't grow in these parts. We ain't savages exactly, but thereain't many accomplishments scattered through the village. Unless, asyou say, bread-makin's one. We do know how to make bread, and cake, with anybody; Lois said she didn't see a bit o' real good cake all thewhile she was in Gotham; and we can cure hams, and we understand horsesand cows, and butter and cheese, and farming, of course, and that; butyou won't find your man of education here, or Lois won't."

"She may find him somewhere else," said Mrs. Barclay, looking at

Charity over her coffee-cup.

"Then he won't be the right kind," persisted Charity; while Loislaughed, and begged they would not discuss the question of her possible"finds"; but Mrs. Barclay asked, "How not the right kind?"

"Well, every place has its sort," said Charity. "Our sort is religious.I don't know whether we're any better than other folks, but we'rereligious; and your men of accomplishments ain't, be they?"

"Depends on what you mean by religious."

"Well, I mean godly. Lois won't ever marry any but a godly man."

"I hope not!" said Mrs. Armadale.

"She won't," said Charity; "but you had better talk to Madge, mother.I am not so sure of her. Lois is safe."

"'The fashion of this world passeth away,'" said the old lady, with agravity which was yet sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth forever.'"

Mrs. Barclay was now silent. This morning, contrary to her usual wont, she kept her place at the table, though the meal was finished. She wascurious to see the ways of the household, and felt herself familiarenough with the family to venture to stay. Charity began to gather hercups.

"Did you give aunt Anne's invitation? Hand along the plates, Madge, andcarry your butter away. We've been for ever eating breakfast."

"Talking," said Mrs. Barclay, with a smile.

"Talking's all very well, but I think one thing at a time is enough. Itis as much as most folks can attend to. Lois, do give me the plates; and give your invitation."

"Aunt Anne wants us all to come and take tea with her to-night," saidLois; "and she sent her compliments to Mrs. Barclay, and a message thatshe would be very glad to see her with the rest of us."

"I am much obliged, and shall be very happy to go."

"'Tain't a party," said Charity, who was receiving plates and knivesand forks from Lois's hand, and making them elaborately ready forwashing; while Madge went back and forth clearing the table of theremains of the meal. "It's nothin' but to go and take our tea thereinstead of here. We save the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have thetrouble of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has for her sideshe knows best herself. I guess she's proud of her sweetmeats."

Mrs. Barclay smiled again. "It seems parties are much the same thing, wherever they are given," she said.

"This ain't a party," repeated Charity. Madge had now brought a tub ofhot water, and the washing up of the breakfast dishes was undertaken byLois and Charity with a despatch and neatness and celerity which thelooker-on had never seen equalled.

"Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fashion," she remarked. "I havenot heard of any since I have been here."

"No," said Charity. "We have more sense."

"I am not sure that it shows sense," remarked Lois, carrying off a pileof clean hot plates to the cupboard.

"What's the use of 'em?" said the elder sister.

"Cultivation of friendly feeling," suggested Mrs. Barclay.

"If folks ain't friendly already, the less they see of one another thebetter they'll agree," said Charity.

"Miss Charity, I am afraid you do not love your fellow-creatures," said

Mrs. Barclay, much amused.

"As well as they love me, I guess," said Charity.

"Mrs. Armadale," said Mrs. Barclay, appealing to the old lady who satin her corner knitting as usual, – "do not these opinions require somecorrection?"

"Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. Armadale, scratching behindher ear with the point of her needle, as she was very apt to do whencalled upon.

"But that is not the right way to think, is it?"

"It's the natural way," said the old lady. "It is only the fruit of theSpirit that is 'love, joy, peace.' 'Tain't natural to love what youdon't like."

"What you don't like! no," said Mrs. Barclay; "that is a pitch of love

I never dreamed of."

"'If ye love them that love you, what thank have ye?'" said the oldlady quietly.

"Mother's off now," said Charity; "out of anybody's understanding. Onewould think I was more unnatural than the rest of folks!"

"She said you were more natural, thats all," said Lois, with a slysmile.

The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a few minutes more, marvelling to see the quick dexterity with which everything was done bythe two girls; until the dishes were put away, the tcib and towels weregone, the table was covered with its brown cloth, a few crumbs werebrushed from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one direction andLois in another. Mrs. Barclay herself withdrew to her room and her thoughts.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CARPENTER

The day was a more than commonly busy one, so that the usual hours oflessons in Mrs. Barclay's room did not come off. It was not till latein the afternoon that Lois went to her friend, to tell her that Mrs.Marx would send her little carriage in about an hour to fetch hermother, and that Mrs. Barclay also might ride if she would. Mrs.Barclay was sitting in her easy-chair before the fire, doing nothing, and on receipt of this in formation turned a very shadowed face towardsthe bringer of it.

"What will you say to me, if after all your aunt's kindness in askingme, I do not go?"

"Not go? You are not well?" inquired Lois anxiously.

"I am quite well – too well!"

"But something is the matter?"

"Nothing new."

"Dear Mrs. Barclay, can I help you?"

"I do not think you can. I am tired, Lois!"

"Tired! O, that is spending so much time giving lessons to Madge andme! I am so sorry."

"It is nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Barclay, stretching out her handto take one of Lois's, which she retained in her own. "If anythingwould take away this tired feeling, it is just that, Lois. Nothingrefreshes me so much, or does me so much good."

"Then what tires you, dear Mrs. Barclay?"

Lois's face showed unaffected anxiety. Mrs. Barclay gave the hand sheheld a little squeeze.

"It is nothing new, my child," she said, with a faint smile. "I amtired of life."

Looking at the girl, as she spoke, she saw how unable her listener'smind was to comprehend her. Lois looked puzzled.

"You do not know what I mean?" she said.

"Hardly – "

"I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. It is like what Ican fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient andintelligent thing; – of no use to the branch which holds it – freshnessand power gone – no reason for existence left – its work all done. Only Inever did any work, and was never of any particular use."