Nobody

"Yes," said Lois, smiling; "and I have just told you the reason. Don'tyou see? I have no care about anything."

"On your principles, I do not see what need you had to consider yourfuture way of life; to speculate about it, I mean."

"No," said Lois, rising, "I have not. Only sometimes one must look alittle carefully at the parting of the ways, to see which road one ismeant to take."

"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wantedto ask you something."

Lois sat down.

"I came to ask a favour."

"How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, nothing we could do could be afavour to you!"

"Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to come to see me."

"Well?"

"May he come?"

"Why, of course."

"But it is a gentleman."

"Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no objections to gentlemen."

"It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very long while; a dearfriend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has justreturned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way toBoston and spend Sunday with me."

"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make himcomfortable."

"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be atall inconvenient?"

"Not in the least."

"Then he may come?"

"Certainly. When does he wish to come?"

"This week – Saturday. His name is Dillwyn."

"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs.

Wishart's once or twice."

"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart.

So you remember him? What do you remember about him?"

"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and hasvery pleasant manners."

"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you."

Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into thehouse, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet.

"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are goingto have a visitor."

Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois.

"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips.

"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay overSunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And somust I."

"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?"

"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; atravelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay."

"What are we to do with him?"

"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, andcouldn't do it if we had."

"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him."

"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; and you may get out your pickles."

"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?"

"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he isa man who likes all sorts of nice things."

"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois! – there will be Saturdaytea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morningbreakfast."

"Perhaps Monday dinner."

"O, he can't stay to dinner."

"Why not?"

"It is washing day."

"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; andwashing is – well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, orit might be, for all they know about it."

"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on. – "Wouldn't it be a goodplan to get uncle Tim to be here?"

"What for?"

"Why, we haven't a man in the house."

"What then?"

"Who'll talk to him?"

"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to yourpickles."

"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are wegoing to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens."

"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr.

Dillwyn here."

"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him."

"Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my New York days."

"And he gave you lunch."

"Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good lunch it was. That's why I spokeof pickles, Charity. Do the very best you can."

"I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the chickens," said Charity, who all this while stood leaning upon her broom. "I might do it foronce."

"Where is your leave to do wrong once?"

"But this is a particular occasion – you may call it a necessity; andnecessity makes an exception."

"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now hadnot spoken.

"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?"

"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine togive."

"But necessary things, grandma? – we may do necessary things?"

"What have you got in the house?"

"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham, – that's all. Do youthink that's enough?"

"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently.

"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked.

"Cold fricassee ain't worth a cent."

"Cook them some other way. Roast them, – or – Give them to me, and I'lldo them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, andapple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and apumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee, – we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwynhas made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertaketo maintain."

"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comesfirst."

"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces andapples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more, – or better."

"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charityasked. "Men make so much of hot dinners."

"What does it signify, my dear, whether he understands it or not?" said

Mrs. Armadale. "What we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do.

That is all you need mind."

"I mind what folks think, though," said Charity. "Mrs. Barclay's friendespecially."

"I do not think he will notice it," said simple Mrs. Armadale.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE VALUE OF MONEY

There was a little more bustle in the house than usual during the nexttwo days; and the spare room was no doubt put in very particular order, with the best of all the house could furnish on the bed andtoilet-table. Pantry and larder also were well stocked; and Lois wasjust watching the preparation of her chickens, Saturday evening, andtherefore in the kitchen, when Mr. Dillwyn came to the door. Mrs.Barclay herself let him in, and brought him into her own warm, comfortable, luxurious-looking sitting-room. The evening was fallingdusk, so that the little wood lire in Mrs. Barclay's chimney hadopportunity to display itself, and I might say, the room too; whichnever could have showed to better advantage. The flickering lightdanced back again from gilded books, from the polished case of thepiano, from picture frames, and pictures, and piles of music, andcomfortable easy-chairs standing invitingly, and trinkets of art orcuriosity; an unrolled engraving in one place, a stereoscope inanother, a work-basket, and the bright brass stand of a microscope.

The greeting was warm between the two friends; and then Mrs. Barclaysat down and surveyed her visitor, whom she had not seen for so long.He was not a beauty of Tom Caruthers' sort, but he was what I thinkbetter; manly and intelligent, and with an air and bearing of franknobleness which became him exceedingly. That he was a man with aserious purpose in life, or any object of earnest pursuit, you wouldnot have supposed; and that character had never belonged to him. Mrs.Barclay, looking at him, could not see any sign that it was his now.Look and manner were easy and careless as of old.

"You are not changed," she remarked.

"What should change me?" said he, while his eye ran rapidly over theapartment. "And you? – you do not look as if life was stagnating here."

"It does not stagnate. I never was further from stagnation in all mylife."

"And yet Shampuashuh is in a corner!"

"Is not most of the work of the world done in corners? It is not thebutterfly, but the coral insect, that lays foundations and lifts upislands out of the sea."

"You are not a coral insect any more than I am a butterfly," said

Dillwyn, laughing.

"Rather more."

"I acknowledge it, thankfully. And I am rejoiced to know from yourletters that the seclusion has been without any evil consequences toyourself. It has been pleasant?"

"Royally pleasant. I have delighted in my building; even although Icould not tell whether my island would not prove a dangerous one tomariners."

"I have just been having a discourse on that subject with my sister. Ithink one's sisters are – I beg your pardon! – the mischief. Tom's sisterhas done for him; and mine is very eager to take care of me."

"Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay, with surprise.

"Nothing of the kind! I merely told her I was coming up here to seeyou. A few questions followed, as to what you were doing here, – which Idid not tell her, by the way, – and she hit the bull's eye with theinstinctive accuracy of a woman; poured out upon me in consequence alecture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to nothing, but thatmattered not. All that Tom's sister urged upon him, my good sisterpressed upon me."

"So did I once, did I not?"

"You are not going to repeat it?"

"No; that is over, for me. I know better. But, Philip, I do not see theway very clear before you."

He left the matter there, and went off into a talk with her uponwidely-different subjects, touching or growing out of his travels andexperiences during the last year and a half. The twilight darkened, andthe fire brightened, and in the light of the fire the two sat andtalked; till a door opened, and in the same flickering shine a figurepresented itself which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now it wasclothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, and round her shoulders alittle white worsted shawl was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentenceof introduction, but Mr. Dillwyn cut her short.

"Do not do me such dishonour," he said. "Must I suppose that Miss

Lothrop has forgotten me?"

"Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I remember you verywell. Tea will be ready in a minute – would you like to see your roomfirst?"

"You are too kind, to receive me!"

"It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, and she is at homehere; I will get a light."

Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could not find his own way, was obliged to accept her services and see her trip up the stairsbefore him. At the door she handed him the light and ran down again.There was a fire here too – a wood fire; blazing hospitably, andthrowing its cheery light upon a wide, pleasant, country room, not likewhat Mr. Dillwyn was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospitable.Nothing handsome there; no articles of luxury (beside the fire); thereflection of the blaze came back from dark old-fashioned chairs andchests of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and bed, whitecounterpane and napery, with a sonsy, sober, quiet air of comfort; andthe air was fresh and sweet as air should be, and as air can only be ata distance from the smoke of many chimneys and the congregatedhabitations of many human beings. I do not think Mr. Dillwyn spent muchattention upon these details; yet he felt himself in a sound, clear, healthy atmosphere, socially as well as physically; also had aperception that it was very far removed from that in which he had livedand breathed hitherto. How simply that girl had lighted him up thestairs, and given him his brass candlestick at the door of his room!What à plomb could have been more perfect! I do not mean to implythat Mr. Dillwyn knew the candlestick was brass; I am afraid there wasa glamour over his eyes which made it seem golden.

He found Mrs. Barclay seated in a very thoughtful attitude before herfire, when he came down again; but just then the door of the other roomwas opened, and they were called in to tea.

The family were in rather gala trim. Lois, as I said, wore indeed onlya dark print dress, with her white fichu over it; but Charity had puton her best silk, and Madge had stuck two golden chrysanthemums in herdark hair (with excellent effect), and Mrs. Armadale was stately in herbest cap. Alas! Philip Dillwyn did not know what any of them had on. Hewas placed next to Mrs. Armadale, and all supper time his specialattention, so far as appeared, was given to the old lady. He talked toher, and he served her, with an easy, pleasant grace, and without atall putting himself forward or taking the part of the distinguishedstranger. It was simply good will and good breeding; however, itproduced a great effect.

"The air up here is delicious!" he remarked, after he had attended toall the old lady's immediate wants, and applied himself to his ownsupper. "It gives one a tremendous appetite."

"I allays like to see folks eat," said Mrs. Armadale. "After one's donethe gettin' things ready, I hate to have it all for nothin'."

"It shall not be for nothing this time, as far as I am concerned."

"Ain't the air good in New York?" Mrs. Armadale next asked.

"I do not think it ever was so sweet as this. But when you crowd amillion or so of people into room that is only enough for a thousand, you can guess what the consequences must be."

"What do they crowd up so for, then?"

"It must be the case in a great city."

"I don't see the sense o' that," said Mrs. Armadale. "Ain't the worldbig enough?"

"Far too big," said Mr. Dillwyn. "You see, when people's time is veryvaluable, they cannot afford to spend too much of it in running aboutafter each other."

"What makes their time worth any more'n our'n?"

"They are making money so fast with it."

"And is that what makes folks' time valeyable?"

"In their opinion, madam."

"I never could see no use in havin' much money," said the old lady.

"But there comes a question," said Dillwyn. "What is 'much'?"

"More'n enough, I should say."

"Enough for what? That also must be settled."

"I'm an old-fashioned woman," said the old lady, "and I go by theold-fashionedst book in the world. That says, 'we brought nothing intothis world, and we can carry nothing out; therefore, having food andraiment, let us be therewith content.'"

"But, again, what sort of food, and what sort of raiment?" urged thegentleman pleasantly. "For instance; would you be content to exchangethis delicious manufacture, – which seems to me rather like ambrosiathan common food, – for some of the black bread of Norway? with noqualification of golden butter? or for Scotch oatmeal bannocks? or forsour corn cake?"

"I would be quite content, if it was the Lord's will," said the oldlady. "There's no obligation upon anybody to have it sour."

Mr. Dillwyn laughed gently. "I can fancy," he said, "that you neverwould allow such a dereliction in duty. But, beside having the breadsweet, is it not allowed us to have the best we can get?"

"The best we can make," answered Mrs. Armadale; "I believe ineverybody doin' the best he kin with what he has got to work with; butfood ain't worth so much that we should pay a large price for it."

The gentleman's eye glanced with a scarcely perceptible movement overthe table at which he was sitting. Bread, indeed, in piles of whiteflakiness; and butter; but besides, there was the cold ham in delicateslices, and excellent-looking cheese, and apples in a sort of beautifulgolden confection, and cake of superb colour and texture; a pitcher ofmilk that was rosy sweet, and coffee rich with cream. The glance thattook all this in was slight and swift, and yet the old lady was quickenough to see and understand it.

"Yes," she said, "it's all our'n, all there is on the table. Our coweats our own grass, and Madge, my daughter, makes the butter and thecheese. We've raised and cured our own pork; and the wheat that makesthe bread is grown on our ground too; we farm it out on shares; and itis ground at a mill about four miles off. Our hens lay our eggs; it'sall from home."

"But suppose the case of people who have no ground, nor hens, nor pork, nor cow? they must buy."

"Of course," said the old lady; "everybody ain't farmers."

"I am ready to wish I was one," said Dillwyn. "But even then, Iconfess, I should want coffee and tea and sugar – as I see you. do."

"Well, those things don't grow in America," said Mrs. Armadale.

"And spice don't, neither, mother," observed Charity.

"So it appears that even you send abroad for luxuries," Mr. Dillwynwent on. "And why not? And the question is, where shall we stop? If Iwant coffee, I must have money to buy it, and the better the coffee themore money; and the same with tea. In cities we must buy all we use orconsume, unless one is a butcher or a baker. May I not try to get moremoney, in order that I may have better things? We have got round to ourstarting-point."

"'They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare,'" Mrs.

Armadale said quietly.

"Then where is the line? – Miss Lois, you are smiling. Is it at mystupidity?"

"No," said Lois. "I was thinking of a lunch – such as I have seen it – inone of the great New York hotels."

"Well?" said he, without betraying on his own part any recollection;"how does that come in? By way of illustrating Mrs. Armadale, or me?"

"I seem to remember a number of things that illustrate both," saidLois; "but as I profited by them at the time, it would be ungrateful inme to instance them now."

"You profited by them with pleasure, or otherwise?"

"Not otherwise. I was very hungry."

"You evade my question, however."

"I will not. I profited by them with much pleasure."

"Then you are on my side, as far as I can be said to have a side?"

"I think not. The pleasure is undoubted; but I do not know that thattouches the question of expediency."

"I think it does. I think it settles the question. Mrs. Armadale, yourgranddaughter confesses the pleasure; and what else do we live for, butto get the most good out of life?"

"What pleasure does she confess?" asked the old lady, with moreeagerness than her words hitherto had manifested.

"Pleasure in nice things, grandmother; in particularly nice things; that had cost a great deal to fetch them from nobody knows where; andpleasure in pretty things too. That hotel seemed almost like the hallsof Aladdin to my inexperienced eyes. There is certainly pleasure in awonderfully dainty meal, served in wonderful vessels of glass and chinaand silver, and marble and gold and flowers to help the effect. I couldhave dreamed myself into a fairy tale, often, if it had not been forthe people."

"Life is not a fairy tale," said Mrs. Armadale somewhat severely.

"No, grandmother; and so the humanity present generally reminded me.

But the illusion for a minute was delightful."

"Is there any harm in making it as much like a fairy tale as we can?"

Some of the little courtesies and hospitalities of the table came inhere, and Mr. Dillwyn's question received no answer. His eye went roundthe table. No, clearly these people did not live in fairyland, and aslittle in the search after it. Good, strong, sensible, practical faces; women that evidently had their work to do, and did it; habitual energyand purpose spoke in every one of them, and purpose attained. Herewas no aimless dreaming or fruitless wishing. The old lady's face wassorely weather-beaten, but calm as a ship in harbour. Charity washomely, but comfortable. Madge and Lois were blooming in strength andactivity, and as innocent apparently of any vague, unfulfilled longingsas a new-blown rose. Only when Mr. Dillwyn's eye met Mrs. Barclay's hewas sensible of a different record. He half sighed. The calm and therest were not there.

The talk rambled on. Mr. Dillwyn made him self exceedingly pleasant; told of things he had seen in his travels, things and people, and waysof life; interesting even Mrs. Armadale with a sort of fascinatedinterest, and gaining, he knew, no little share of her good-will. So, just as the meal was ending, he ventured to bring forward the oldsubject again.

"You will pardon me, Mrs. Armadale," he began, – "but you are the firstperson I ever met who did not value money."

"Perhaps I am the first person you ever met who had something better."

"You mean – ?" said Philip, with a look of inquiry. "I do notunderstand."

"I have treasure in heaven."

"But the coin of that realm is not current here? – and we are here."

"That coin makes me rich now; and I take it with me when I go," saidthe old lady, as she rose from the table.

CHAPTER XXXIV

UNDER AN UMBRELLA

Mrs. Barclay returned to her own room, and Mr. Dillwyn was forced tofollow her. The door was shut between them and the rest of thehousehold. Mrs. Barclay trimmed her fire, and her guest looked onabsently. Then they sat down on opposite sides of the fireplace; Mrs.Barclay smiling inwardly, for she knew that Philip was impatient; however, nothing could be more sedate to all appearance than she was.

"Do you hear how the wind moans in the chimney?" she said. "That meansrain."

"Rather dismal, isn't it?"

"No. In this house nothing is dismal. There is a wholesome way oflooking at everything."

"Not at money?"

"It is no use, Philip, to talk to people about what they cannotunderstand."

"I thought understanding on that point was universal."

"They have another standard in this family for weighing things, fromthat which you and I have been accustomed to go by."

"What is it?"

"I can hardly tell you, in a word. I am not sure that I can tell you atall. Ask Lois."

"When can I ask her? Do you spend your evenings alone?"

"By no means! Sometimes I go out and read 'Rob Roy' to them. Sometimesthe girls come to me for some deeper reading, or lessons."

"Will they come to-night?"

"Of course not! They would not interfere with your enjoyment of mysociety."

"Cannot you ask Lois in, on some pretext?"

"Not without her sister. It is hard on you, Philip! I will do the bestfor you I can; but you must watch your opportunity."

Mr. Dillwyn gave it up with a good grace, and devoted himself to Mrs.Barclay for the rest of the evening. On the other side of the wallseparating the two rooms, meanwhile a different colloquy had takenplace.

"So that is one of your fine people?" said Miss Charity. "Well, I don'tthink much of him."

"I have no doubt he would return the compliment," said Madge.

"No," said Lois; "I think he is too polite."

"He was polite to grandmother," returned Charity. "Not to anybody else, that I saw. But, girls, didn't he like the bread!"

"I thought he liked everything pretty well," said Madge.

"When's he goin'?" Mrs. Armadale asked suddenly.

"Monday, some time," Madge answered. "Mrs. Barclay said 'until Monday.'

What time Monday I don't know."

"Well, we've got things enough to hold out till then," said Charity, gathering up her dishes. "It's fun, too; I like to set a nice table."

"Why, grandmother?" said Lois. "Don't you like Mrs. Barclay's friend?"

"Well enough, child. I don't want him for none of our'n."

"Why, grandmother?" said Madge.

"His world ain't our world, children, and his hopes ain't our hopes – ifthe poor soul has any. 'Seems to me he's all in the dark."

"That's only on one subject," said Lois. "About everything else heknows a great deal; and he has seen everything."

"Yes," said Mrs. Armadale; "very like he has; and he likes to talkabout it; and he has a pleasant tongue; and he is a civil man. Butthere's one thing he hain't seen, and that is the light; and one thinghe don't know, and that is happiness. And he may have plenty ofmoney – I dare say he has; but he's what I call a poor man. I don't wantyou to have no such friends."

"But grandmother, you do not dislike to have him in the house these twodays, do you?"

"It can't be helped, my dear, and we'll do the best for him we can. But

I don't want you to have no such friends."

"I believe we should go out of the world to suit grandmother," remarked

Charity. "She won't think us safe as long as we're in it."