Nobody

"… too bright and good For human nature's daily food."

But what "daily food" for human nature she would be! She is a loftycreature; yet she is a half-timid country girl; and I suppose she doesnot know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably Mrs. Caruthers wasright; she would not do for Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough forher! She is a little country girl, and she does not know much; andyet – happy will be the man to whom she will give a free kiss of thosewise, sweet lips!

With these somewhat contradictory thoughts running through his mind,Mr. Dillwyn set himself seriously to entertain Lois. As she had nevertravelled, he told her of things he had seen – and things he had knownwithout seeing – in his own many journeyings about the world. PresentlyLois dropped her work out of her hands, forgot it, and turned upon Mr.Dillwyn a pair of eager, intelligent eyes, which it was a pleasure totalk to. He became absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering tothe attention and curiosity and power of imagination he had aroused.What listeners her eyes were! and how quick to receive and keen to passjudgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried toget a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Loiswas not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would notspeak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At lastPhilip made a determined effort to draw her out.

"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" Andhis manner said, I am going to stop, and you are going to begin.

"There is nothing striking about it, I think," said Lois.

"Perhaps you think so, just because it is familiar to you."

"No, it is because there is really not much to tell about it. There arejust level farm fields; and the river, and the Sound."

"The river?"

"The Connecticut."

"O, that is where you are, is it? And are you near the river?"

"Not very near. About as near the river on one side as we are to the

Sound on the other; either of them is a mile and more away."

"You wish they were nearer?"

"No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is always the pleasure ofgoing to them."

"Then you should wish them further. A mile is a short drive."

"O, we do not drive much. We walk to the shore often, and sometimes tothe river."

"You like the large water so much the best?"

"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go forclams."

"Can you get them yourself?"

"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we goto dig clams. And I think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by."

"Do tell me about the clams."

"Do you like them?"

"I suppose I do. I do not know them. What are they? the usual littlesoup fish?"

"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are not the sortMrs. Wishart has sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I mean; longish and blackish; and do not taste like the clams you have here."

"Better, I hope?"

"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish oflong clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so."

"Because you have got them yourself!"

"No; but I suppose that helps."

"So you get them by digging?"

"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, wherethe rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then,in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a leadpencil would make; those are the clam holes."

"And what then?"

"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, orthe clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him hespits at you."

"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance."

"It may come in your face."

Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair creature, who wastalking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushesracing with a long clam.

"It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the clams?"

"O yes. One must take off shoes and stockings and go barefoot. But themud is warm, and it is pleasant enough."

"The clams must be good, to reward the trouble?"

"We think it is as pleasant to get them as to eat them."

"I believe you remarked, this sport is your substitute for our Central

Park?"

"Yes, it is a sort of a substitute."

"And, in the comparison, you think you are the gainers?"

"You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; "only that both areways of seeking pleasure."

"So you say; and I wanted your comparative estimate of the two ways."

"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fondof riding, —driving, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the sceneis like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it aquarter as much."

"The people whom you see driving?"

"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most ofthem."

"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?"

Lois looked at her questioner.

"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, Isuppose, that they do other things."

"Pardon me, – what things do you mean?"

"I mean, all the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed tobe for pleasure. Parties – luncheon parties, and dinners, and – " Loishesitated.

"Supposed to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuseme – but what makes you think they do not gain their end?"

"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to meas if they really enjoyed what they were doing."

"You are a nice observer!"

"Am I?"

"Pray, at – I forget the name – your home in the country, are the peoplemore happily constituted?"

"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think theylive more natural lives."

"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious.

"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they dothings unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want tosee them; and when they do make a party, everybody has a good time.It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; butyet I think it is more really what it is meant to be."

"And here you think things are not what they are meant to be?"

"Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. "I have seen so little."

"You are not mistaken in your general view. It would be a mistake tothink there are no exceptions."

"O, I do not think that."

"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquiredsuch keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasionsyourself?"

"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think Iam the only one of the company that does; but I enjoy them."

"By the power of what secret talisman?"

"I don't know; – being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly.

"You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching thegreatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you aretruly happy?"

Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, andanswered a plain "yes."

"But, to be happy, with me, means, to be independent ofcircumstances. I do not call him happy, whose happiness is gone ifthe east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even thoughit were the bank in which his property is involved."

"Nor do I," said Lois gravely.

"And – pray forgive me for asking! – but, are you happy in this exclusivesense?"

"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have notbeen tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have noproperty anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn."

"But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn.

"What is the philosopher's stone?"

"The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search forsome substance, or composition, which would turn other substances togold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, theyspent endless pains and countless time upon the search for thistransmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was justupon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he alwaysbroke down."

"They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully.

"Is there a right place to look then?"

Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calmand confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She wasnot in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty.

"I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length.

"That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money isthe means to everything else in this world."

"Not to happiness, is it?"

"Well, what is, then? They say – and perhaps you will say – thatfriendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where thereare not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no goldenfruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to thestings of pain."

"Money can do a great deal," said Lois.

"What can do more?"

Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Didhe know no better than that?

"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by herexpression.

"Yes," said Lois; "and yet – all that never satisfied anybody."

"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who issatisfied?"

Lois glanced up again, mutely.

"If I dared venture to say so – you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutelylook, as if you were; and yet it is impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it."

"Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It wasnever found there."

"Was it ever found anywhere?"

"Why, yes!"

"Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!"

The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes,he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he couldnot see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, inthis its mood of stirred gravity!

"Do you ever read the Bible, Mr. Dillwyn?"

The question occasioned him a kind of revulsion. The Bible! was that to be brought upon his head? A confused notion of organ-song, thesolemnity of a still house, a white surplice, and words in measuredcadence, came over him. Nothing in that connection had ever given himthe idea of being satisfied. But Lois's question —

"The Bible?" he repeated. "May I ask, why you ask?"

"I thought you did not know something that is in it."

"Very possibly. It is the business of clergymen, isn't it, to tell uswhat is in it? That is what they are paid for. Of what are youthinking?"

"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean, – who saidjust what you said a minute ago."

"What was that? And who was that?"

"It was a poor woman who once held a long talk with the Lord Jesus ashe was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesusasked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of thatwater would thirst again – as she knew; but whoever should drink of thewater that he would give, should never thirst. I was telling you ofthat water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what youanswered – 'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hitherto draw.'"

"Did she get it?"

"I think she did."

"You mean, something that satisfied her, and would satisfy me?"

"It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said Lois.

"But you know, I do not in the least understand you."

The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay upon a distant table.Philip looked at the book as she brought it near; no volume of Mrs.Wishart's, he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her in thedrawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. Hebelieved they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given tolaying down the law and erecting barricades across other people'spaths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was alovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, whatwas she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched thefingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to theblanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soonthat he had little time to think his regrets.

"You allowed that nobody is satisfied, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois then.

"See if you understand this."

"'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hathno money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk withoutmoney, and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which isnot bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearkendiligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your souldelight itself in fatness.'"

Lois closed her book.

"Who says that?" Philip inquired.

"God himself, by his messenger."

"And to whom?"

"I think, just now, the words come to you, Mr. Dillwyn." Lois said thiswith a manner and look of such simplicity, that Philip was not evenreminded of the class of monitors he had in his mind assigned her with.It was absolute simple matter of fact; she meant business.

"May I look at it?" he said.

She found the page again, and he considered it. Then as he gave itback, remarked,

"This does not tell me yet what this satisfying food is?"

"No, that you can know only by experience."

"How is the experience to be obtained?"

Again Lois found the words in her book and showed them to him."'Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him' – and again, above, 'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith tothee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he wouldhave given thee living water.' Christ gives it, and he must be askedfor it."

"And then – ?" said Philip.

"Then you would be satisfied."

"You think it?"

"I know it."

"It takes a great deal to satisfy a man!"

"Not more than it does for a woman."

"And you are satisfied?" he asked searchingly.

But Lois smiled as she gave her answer; and it was an odd and veryinconsistent thing that Philip should be disposed to quarrel with herfor that smile. I think he wished she were not satisfied. It was veryabsurd, but he did not reason about it; he only felt annoyed.

"Well, Miss Lothrop," he said as he rose, "I shall never forget thisconversation. I am very glad no one came in to interrupt it."

Lois had no phrases of society ready, and replied nothing.

CHAPTER VII

THE WORTH OF THINGS

Mr. Dillwyn walked away from Mrs. Wishart's in a discontented mood, which was not usual with him. He felt almost annoyed with something; yet did not quite know what, and he did not stop to analyze thefeeling. He walked away, wondering at himself for being so discomposed, and pondering with sufficient distinctness one or two questions whichstood out from the discomposure.

He was a man who had gone through all the usual routine of educationand experience common to those who belong to the upper class ofsociety, and can boast of a good name and family. He had lived hiscollege life; he had travelled; he knew the principal cities of his owncountry, and many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. Speakinggenerally, he had seen everything, and knew everybody. He had ceased tobe surprised at anything, or to expect much from the world beyond whathis own efforts and talents could procure him. His connections andassociations had been always with good society and with the old andestablished portions of it; but he had come into possession of hisproperty not so very long ago, and the pleasure of that was not yetworn off. He was a man who thought himself happy, and certainlypossessed a very high place in the esteem of those who knew him; beingeducated, travelled, clever, and of noble character, and withal rich.It was the oddest thing for Philip to walk as he walked now, musingly, with measured steps, and eyes bent on the ground. There was a moststrange sense of uneasiness upon him.

The image of Lois busied him constantly. It was such a lovely image.But he had seen hundreds of handsomer women, he told himself. Had he?Yes, he thought so. Yet not one, not one of them all, had made as muchimpression upon him. It was inconvenient; and why was it inconvenient?Something about her bewitched him. Yes, he had seen handsomer women; but more or less they were all of a certain pattern; not alike infeature, or name, or place, or style, yet nevertheless all belonging tothe general sisterhood of what is called the world. And this girl wasdifferent. How different? She was uneducated, but that could not givea charm; though Philip thereby reflected that there was a certain charmin variety, and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to the greatworld and its ways; there could be no charm in that, for he liked theutmost elegance of the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up again.Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Nothing of the kind. She wasutterly and truly refined, in every look and word and movement showingthat she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as Mrs. Caruthers would haveexpressed it. No, she had not. She had no trained and inevitable way ofspeaking and looking; her way was her own, and sprang naturally fromthe truth of her thought or feeling at the moment. Therefore it couldnever be counted upon, and gave one the constant pleasure of surprises.Yes, Philip concluded that this was one point of interest about her.She had not learned how to hide herself, and the manner of herrevelations was a continual refreshing variety, inasmuch as what shehad to reveal was only fair and delicate and true. But what made thegirl so provokingly happy? so secure in her contentment? Mr. Dillwynthought himself a happy man; content with himself and with life; yetlife had reached something too like a dead level, and himself, he wasconscious, led a purposeless sort of existence. What purpose indeed wasthere to live for? But this little girl – Philip recalled the bright, soft, clear expression of eye with which she had looked at him; thevery sweet curves of happy consciousness about her lips; the confidentbearing with which she had spoken, as one who had found a treasurewhich, as she said, satisfied her. But it cannot! said Philip tohimself. It is that she is pure and sweet, and takes happiness like ababy, sucking in what seems to her the pure milk of existence. It istrue, the remembered expression of Lois's features did not quite agreewith this explanation; pure and sweet, no doubt, but also grave andhigh, and sometimes evidencing a keen intellectual perception andwisdom. Not just like a baby; and he found he could not dismiss thematter so. What made her, then, so happy? Philip could not rememberever seeing a grown person who seemed so happy; whose happiness seemedto rest on such a steady foundation. Can she be in love? thoughtDillwyn; and the idea gave him a most unreasonable thrill ofdispleasure. For a moment only; then his reason told him that the lookin Lois's face was not like that. It was not the brilliance of ecstasy;it was the sunshine of deep and fixed content. Why in the world shouldMr. Dillwyn wish that Lois were not so content? so beyond what he oranybody could give her? And having got to this point, Mr. Dillwynpulled himself up again. What business was it of his, the particularspring of happiness she had found to drink of? and if it quenched herthirst, as she said it did, why should he be anything but glad of it?Why, even if Lois were happy in some new-found human treasure, shouldit move him, Philip Dillwyn, with discomfort? Was it possible that hetoo could be following in those steps of Tom Caruthers, from whichTom's mother was at such pains to divert her son? Philip began to seewhere he stood. Could it be? – and what if?

He studied the question now with a clear view of its bearings. He hadgot out of a fog. Lois was all he had thought of her. Would she do fora wife for him? Uneducated – inexperienced – not in accord with thehabits of the world – accustomed to very different habits andsociety – with no family to give weight to her name and honour to hischoice, – all that Philip pondered; and, on the other side, theloveliness, the freshness, the intellect, the character, and therefinement, which were undoubted. He pondered and pondered. A girl whowas nobody, and whom society would look upon as an intruder; a girl whohad had no advantages of education – how she could express herself sowell and so intelligently Philip could not conceive, but the fact wasthere; Lois had had no education beyond the most simple training of aschool in the country; – would it do? He turned it all over and over, and shook his head. It would be too daring an experiment; it would notbe wise; it would not do; he must give it up, all thought of such athing; and well that he had come to handle the question so early, aselse he might – he – might have got so entangled that he could not savehimself. Poor Tom! But Philip had no mother to interpose to save him; and his sister was not at hand. He went thinking about all this thewhole way back to his hotel; thinking, and shaking his head at it. No, this kind of thing was for a boy to do, not for a man who knew theworld. And yet, the image of Lois worried him.

I believe, he said to himself, I had better not see the little witchagain.

Meanwhile he was not going to have much opportunity. Mrs. Wishart camehome a little while after Philip had gone. Lois was stitching by thelast fading light.

"Do stop, my dear! you will put your eyes out. Stop, and let us havetea. Has anybody been here?"

"Mr. Dillwyn came. He went away hardly a quarter of an hour ago."

"Mr. Dillwyn! Sorry I missed him. But he will come again. I met Tom

Caruthers; he is mourning about this going with his mother to Florida."

"What are they going for?" asked Lois.

"To escape the March winds, he says."

"Who? Mr. Caruthers? He does not look delicate."

Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Not very! And his mother don't either, does she?But, my dear, people are weak in different spots; it isn't always intheir lungs."

"Are there no March winds in Florida?"

"Not where they are going. It is all sunshine and oranges – and orangeblossoms. But Tom is not delighted with the prospect. What do you thinkof that young man?"

"He is a very handsome man."

"Is he not? But I did not mean that. Of course you have eyes. I want toknow whether you have judgment."

"I have not seen much of Mr. Caruthers to judge by."

"No. Take what you have seen and make the most of it."

"I don't think I have judgment," said Lois. "About people, I mean, andmen especially. I am not accustomed to New York people, besides."

"Are they different from Shampuashuh people?"

"O, very."

"How?"

"Miss Caruthers asked me the same thing," said Lois, smiling. "Isuppose at bottom all people are alike; indeed, I know they are. But inthe country I think they show out more."

"Less disguise about them?"

"I think so."

"My dear, are we such a set of masqueraders in your eyes?"

"No," said Lois; "I did not mean that."

"What do you think of Philip Dillwyn? Comare him with young Caruthers."

"I cannot," said Lois. "Mr. Dillwyn strikes me as a man who knowseverything there is in all the world."

"And Tom, you think, does not?"

"Not so much," said, Lois hesitating; "at least he does not impress meso."

"You are more impressed with Mr. Dillwyn?"

"In what way?" said Lois simply. "I am impressed with the sense of myown ignorance. I should be oppressed by it, if it was my fault."

"Now you speak like a sensible girl, as you are. Lois, men do not careabout women knowing much."

"Sensible men must."

"They are precisely the ones who do not. It is odd enough, but it is afact. But go on; which of these two do you like best?"