Nobody

"I have seen most of Mr. Caruthers, you know. But, Mrs. Wishart, sensible men must like sense in other people."

"Yes, my dear; they do; unless when they want to marry the people; andthen their choice very often lights upon a fool. I have seen it overand over and over again; the clever one of a family is passed by, and asilly sister is the one chosen."

"Why?"

"A pink and white skin, or a pair of black eyebrows, or perhaps somesoft blue eyes."

"But people cannot live upon a pair of black eyebrows," said Lois.

"They find that out afterwards."

"Mr. Dillwyn talks as if he liked sense," said Lois. "I mean, he talksabout sensible things."

"Do you mean that Tom don't, my dear?"

A slight colour rose on the cheek Mrs. Wishart was looking at; and Loissaid somewhat hastily that she was not comparing.

"I shall try to find out what Tom talks to you about, when he comesback from Florida. I shall scold him if he indulges in nonsense."

"It will be neither sense nor nonsense. I shall be gone long beforethen."

"Gone whither?"

"Home – to Shampuashuh. I have been wanting to speak to you about it,

Mrs. Wishart. I must go in a very few days."

"Nonsense! I shall not let you. I cannot get along without you. Theydon't want you at home, Lois."

"The garden does. And the dairy work will be more now in a week or two; there will be more milk to take care of, and Madge will want help."

"Dairy work! Lois, you must not do dairy work. You will spoil yourhands."

Lois laughed. "Somebody's hands must do it. But Madge takes care of thedairy. My hands see to the garden."

"Is it necessary?"

"Why, yes, certainly, if we would have butter or vegetables; and youwould not counsel us to do without them. The two make half the livingof the family."

"And you really cannot afford a servant?"

"No, nor want one," said Lois. "There are three of us, and so we getalong nicely."

"Apropos; – My dear, I am sorry that it is so, but must is must. What Iwanted to say to you is, that it is not necessary to tell all this toother people."

Lois looked up, surprised. "I have told no one but you, Mrs. Wishart. Oyes! I did speak to Mr. Dillwyn about it, I believe."

"Yes. Well, there is no occasion, my dear. It is just as well not."

"Is it better not? What is the harm? Everybody at Shampuashuh knowsit."

"Nobody knows it here; and there is no reason why they should. I meantto tell you this before."

"I think I have told nobody but Mr. Dillwyn."

"He is safe. I only speak for the future, my dear."

"I don't understand yet," said Lois, half laughing. "Mrs. Wishart, weare not ashamed of it."

"Certainly not, my dear; you have no occasion."

"Then why should we be ashamed of it?" Lois persisted.

"My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Do not think I mean that.

Only, people here would not understand it."

"How could they _mis_understand it?"

"You do not know the world, Lois. People have peculiar ways of lookingat things; and they put their own interpretation on things; and ofcourse they often make great blunders. And so it is just as well tokeep your own private affairs to yourself, and not give them theopportunity of blundering."

Lois was silent a little while.

"You mean," she said then, – "you think, that some of these people Ihave been seeing here, would think less of me, if they knew how we doat home?"

"They might, my dear. People are just stupid enough for that."

"Then it seems to me I ought to let them know," Lois said, halflaughing again. "I do not like to be taken for what I am not; and I donot want to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." Her colourrose a bit at the same time.

"My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody that once knew you wouldjudge you for yourself, and not upon any adventitious circumstances.They cannot, in my opinion, think of you too highly."

"I think it is better they should know at once that I am a poor girl,"said Lois. However, she reflected privately that it did not matter, asshe was going away so soon. And she remembered also that Mr. Dillwynhad not seemed to think any the less of her for what she had told him.Did Tom Caruthers know?

"But, Lois, my dear, about your going – There is no garden work to bedone yet. It is March."

"It will soon be April. And the ground must be got ready, and potatoesmust go in, and peas."

"Surely somebody else can stick in potatoes and peas."

"They would not know where to put them."

"Does it matter where?"

"To be sure it does!" said Lois, amused. "They must not go where theywere last year."

"Why not?"

"I don't know! It seems that every plant wants a particular sort offood, and gets it, if it can; and so, the place where it grows is moreor less impoverished, and would have less to give it another year. Buta different sort of plant requiring a different sort of food, would beall right in that place."

"Food?" said Mrs. Wishart. "Do you mean manure? you can have that putin."

"No, I do not mean that. I mean something the plant gets from the soilitself."

"I do not understand! Well, my dear, write them word where the peasmust go."

Lois laughed again.

"I hardly know myself, till I have studied the map," she said. "I mean, the map of the garden. It is a more difficult matter than you canguess, to arrange all the new order every spring; all has to bechanged; and upon where the peas go depends, perhaps, where thecabbages go, and the corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It isa matter for study."

"Can't somebody else do it for you?" Mrs. Wishart asked compassionately.

"There is no one else. We have just our three selves; and all that isdone we do; and the garden is under my management."

"Well, my dear, you are wonderful women; that is all I have to say.But, Lois, you must pay me a visit by and by in the summer time; I musthave that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, and I amgoing to have you there."

"If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wishart, it would bedelightful!"

CHAPTER VIII

MRS. ARMADALE

It was a few days later, but March yet, and a keen wind blowing fromthe sea. A raw day out of doors; so much the more comfortable seemedthe good fire, and swept-up hearth, and gentle warmth filling thefarmhouse kitchen. The farmhouse was not very large, neither byconsequence was the kitchen; however, it was more than ordinarilypleasant to look at, because it was not a servants' room; and so wasfurnished not only for the work, but also for the habitation of thefamily, who made it in winter almost exclusively their abiding-place.The floor was covered with a thick, gay rag carpet; a settee sofalooked inviting with its bright chintz hangings; rocking chairs, wellcushioned, were in number and variety; and a basket of work here, and apretty lamp there, spoke of ease and quiet occupation. One person onlysat there, in the best easy-chair, at the hearth corner; beside her alittle table with a large book upon it and a roll of knitting. She wasnot reading nor working just now; waiting, perhaps, or thinking, withhands folded in her lap. By the look of the hands they had done many ajob of hard work in their day; by the look of the face and air of theperson, one could see that the hard work was over. The hands were bony, thin, enlarged at the joints, so as age and long rough usage make them, but quiet hands now; and the face was steady and calm, with no haste orrestlessness upon it any more, if ever there had been, but a very sweetand gracious repose. It was a hard-featured countenance; it had neverbeen handsome; only the beauty of sense and character it had, and thedignity of a well-lived life. Something more too; some thing of a morenoble calm than even the fairest retrospect can give; a more restfulrepose than comes of mere cessation from labour; a deeper content thanhas its ground in the actual present. She was a most reverent person,to look at. Just now she was waiting for something, and listening; forher ear caught the sound of a door, and then the tread of swift feetcoming down the stair, and then Lois entered upon the scene; evidentlyfresh from her journey. She had been to her room to lay by herwrappings and change her dress; she was in a dark stuff gown now, withan enveloping white apron. She came up and kissed once more the facewhich had watched her entrance.

"You've been gone a good while, Lois!"

"Yes, grandma. Too long, did you think?"

"I don' know, child. That depends on what you stayed for."

"Does it? Grandma, I don't know what I stayed for. I suppose because itwas pleasant."

"Pleasanter than here?"

"Grandma, I haven't been home long enough to know. It all looks andfeels so strange to me as you cannot think!"

"What looks strange?"

"Everything! The house, and the place, and the furniture – I have beenliving in such a different world till my eyes have grown unaccustomed.You can't think how odd it is."

"What sort of a world have you been living in, Lois? Your lettersdidn't tell." The old lady spoke with a certain serious doubtfulness, looking at the girl by her side.

"Didn't they?" Lois returned. "I suppose I did not give you theimpression because I had it not myself. I had got accustomed to that, you see; and I did not realize how strange it was. I just took it as ifI had always lived in it."

"What?"

"O grandma, I can never tell you so that you can understand! It waslike living in the Arabian Nights."

"I don't believe in no Arabian Nights."

"And yet they were there, you see. Houses so beautiful, and filled withsuch beautiful things; and you know, grandmother, I like things to bepretty; – and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's servants goabout almost like fairies; they are hardly seen or heard, but the workis done. And you never have to think about it; you go out, and comehome to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; and you sit readingor talking, and do not know how time goes till it is tea-time, and thenthere comes the tea; and so it is in-doors and out of doors. All thatis quite pleasant."

"And you are sorry to be home again?"

"No, indeed, I am glad. I enjoyed all I have been telling you about, but I think I enjoyed it quite long enough. It is time for me to behere. Is the frost well out of the ground yet?"

"Mr. Bince has been ploughin'."

"Has he? I'm glad. Then I'll put in some peas to-morrow. O yes! I amglad to be home, grandma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bonyones affectionately.

"Could you live just right there, Lois?"

"I tried, grandma."

"Did all that help you?"

"I don't know that it hindered. It might not be good for always; but Iwas there only for a little while, and I just took the pleasure of it."

"Seems to me, you was there a pretty long spell to be called 'a littlewhile.' Ain't it a dangerous kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you neverget tempted?"

"Tempted to what, grandma?"

"I don' know! To want to live easy."

"Would that be wrong?" said Lois, putting her soft cheek alongside thewithered one, so that her wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps itwas unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never bribed.

"It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want to get out o' yourduties."

"I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready for them. And your dinner isthe first thing. Madge and Charity – you say they are gone to New Haven?"

"Charity's tooth tormented her so, and Madge wanted to get a bonnet; and they thought they'd make one job of it. They didn't know you wascomin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it to go before youcome. They won't be back early, nother."

"What have they left for your dinner?" said Lois, going to rummage.

"Grandma, here's nothing at all!"

"An egg'll do, dear. They didn't calkilate for you."

"An egg will do for me," said Lois, laughing; "but there's only a crustof bread."

"Madge calkilated to make tea biscuits after she come home."

"Then I'll do that now."

Lois stripped up the sleeves from her shapely arms, and presently wasvery busy at the great kitchen table, with the board before her coveredwith white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin still at workproducing more. Then the fire was made up, and the tin baker set infront of the blaze, charged with a panful for baking. Lois strippeddown her sleeves and set the table, cut ham and fried it, fried eggs, and soon sat opposite Mrs. Armadale pouring her out a cup of tea.

"This is cosy!" she exclaimed. "It is nice to have you all alone forthe first, grandma. What's the news?"

"Ain't no news, child. Mrs. Saddler's been to New London for a week."

"And I have come home. Is that all?"

"I don't make no count o' news, child. 'One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever.'"

"But one likes to hear of the things that change, grandma."

"Do 'ee? I like to hear of the things that remain."

"But grandma! the earth itself changes; at least it is as different indifferent places as anything can be."

"Some's cold, and some's hot," observed the old lady.

"It is much more than that. The trees are different, and the fruits aredifferent; and the animals; and the country is different, and thebuildings, and the people's dresses."

"The men and women is the same," said the old lady contentedly.

"But no, not even that, grandma. They are as different as they can be, and still be men and women."

"'As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.' Bethe New York folks so queer, then, Lois?"

"O no, not the New York people; though they are different too; quitedifferent from Shampuashuh – "

"How?"

Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, she thought, could notunderstand her; and if she could understand, she thought she would beperhaps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then came the clearing awaythe remains of dinner; washing the dishes; baking the rest of thetea-cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; preparing flour fornext day's bread-making; making her own bed and putting her room inorder; doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at home to take careof; brushing up the kitchen, putting on the kettle, setting the tablefor tea. Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, before shecould put on her afternoon dress and come and sit down by hergrandmother.

"It is a change!" she said, smiling. "Such a different life from what Ihave been living. You can't think, grandma, what a contrast betweenthis afternoon and last Friday."

"What was then?"

"I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, doing nothing but playwork, and a gentleman talking to me."

"Why was he talking to you? Warn't Mrs. Wishart there?"

"No; she was out."

"What did he talk to you for?"

"I was the only one there was," said Lois. But looking back, she couldnot avoid the thought that Mr. Dillwyn's long stay and conversation hadnot been solely a taking up with what he could get.

"He could have gone away," said Mrs. Armadale, echoing her thought.

"I do not think he wanted to go away. I think he liked to talk to me."

It was very odd too, she thought.

"And did you like to talk to him?"

"Yes. You know I hare not much to talk about; but somehow he seemed tofind out what there was."

"Had he much to talk about?"

"I think there is no end to that," said Lois. "He has been all over theworld and seen everything; and he is a man of sense, to care for thethings that are worth while; and he is educated; and it is veryentertaining to hear him talk."

"Who is he? A young man?"

"Yes, he is young. O, he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart."

"Did you like him best of all the people you saw?"

"O no, not by any means. I hardly know him, in fact; not so well asothers."

"Who are the others?"

"What others, grandmother?"

"The other people that you like better."

Lois named several ladies, among them Mrs. Wishart, her hostess.

"There's no men's names among them," remarked Mrs. Armadale. "Didn'tyou see none, savin' that one?"

"Plenty!" said Lois, smiling.

"An' nary one that you liked?"

"Why, yes, grandmother; several; but of course – "

"What of course?"

"I was going to say, of course I did not have much to do with them; butthere was one I had a good deal to do with."

"Who was he?"

"He was a young Mr. Caruthers. O, I did not have much to do with him; only he was there pretty often, and talked to me. He was pleasant."

"Was he a real godly man?"

"No, grandmother. He is not a Christian at all, I think."

"And yet he pleased you, Lois?"

"I did not say so, grandmother."

"I heerd it in the tone of your voice."

"Did you? Yes, he was pleasant. I liked him pretty well. People thatyou would call godly people never came there at all. I suppose theremust be some in New York; but I did not see any."

There was silence a while.

"Eliza Wishart must keep poor company, if there ain't one godly oneamong 'em," Mrs. Armadale began again. But Lois was silent.

"What do they talk about?"

"Everything in the world, except that. People and things, and what thisone says and what that one did, and this party and that party. I can'ttell you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and yet it did notamount to much when all was done. I am not speaking of a few, gentlemenlike Mr. Dillwyn, and a few more."

"But he ain't a Christian?"

"No."

"Nor t'other one? the one you liked."

"No."

"I'm glad you've come away, Lois."

"Yes, grandma, and so am I; but why?"

"You know why. A Christian woman maunt have nothin' to do with men thatain't Christian."

"Nothing to do! Why, we must, grandma. We cannot help seeing people andtalking to them."

"The snares is laid that way," said Mrs. Armadale.

"What are we to do, then, grandmother?"

"Lois Lothrop," said the old lady, suddenly sitting upright, "what'sthe Lord's will?"

"About – what?"

"About drawin' in a yoke with one that don't go your way?"

"He says, don't do it."

"Then mind you don't."

"But, grandma, there is no talk of any such thing in this case," saidLois, half laughing, yet a little annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of sucha thing."

"You don' know what they was thinkin' of."

"I know what they could not have thought of. I am different fromthem; I am not of their world; and I am not educated, and I am poor.There is no danger, grandmother."

"Lois, child, you never know where danger is comin'. It's safe to haveyour armour on, and keep out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never letyourself like a man that ain't Christian!"

"But I might not be able to help liking him."

"Then promise me you'll never marry no sich a one."

"Grandma, I'm not thinking of marrying."

"Lois, what is the Lord's will about it?"

"I know, grandma," Lois answered rather soberly.

"And you know why. 'Thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, norhis daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn away thyson from following me, that they may serve other gods.' I've seen it,Lois, over and over agin. I've been a woman – or a man – witched away anddragged down, till if they hadn't lost all the godliness they ever had,it warn't because they didn't seem so. And the children grew up to bescapegraces.'"

"Don't it sometimes work the other way?"

"Not often, if a Christian man or woman has married wrong with theireyes open. Cos it proves, Lois, that proves, that the ungodly one ofthe two has the most power; and what he has he's like to keep. Lois, Imayn't be here allays to look after you; promise me that you'll do theLord's will."

"I hope I will, grandma," Lois answered soberly.

"Read them words in Corinthians again."

Lois got the Bible and obeyed, "'Be ye not unequally yoked togetherwith unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness withunrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and whatconcord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believethwith an infidel?'"

"Lois, ain't them words plain?"

"Very plain, grandma."

"Will ye mind 'em?"

"Yes, grandma; by his grace."

"Ay, ye may want it," said the old lady; "but it's safe to trust theLord. An' I'd rather have you suffer heartbreak follerin' the Lord, than goin' t'other way. Now you may read to me, Lois. We'll have itbefore they come home."

"Who has read to you while I have been gone?"

"O, one and another. Madge mostly; but Madge don't care, and so shedon' know how to read."

Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was the custom for one ofthe girls, Lois generally, to read her a verse or two morning andevening. Generally it was a small portion, talked over if they hadtime, and if not, then thought over by the old lady all the remainderof the day or evening, as the case might be. For she was like the manof whom it is written – "His delight is in the law of the Lord, and inhis law doth he meditate day and night."

"What shall I read, grandma?"

"You can't go wrong."

The epistle to the Corinthians lay open before Lois, and she read thewords following those which had just been called for.

"'And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are thetemple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, andwalk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.Wherefore come ye out from among them, and be ye separate, saith theLord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and willbe a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith theLord Almighty.'"

If anybody had been there to see, the two women made the loveliestpicture at this moment. The one of them old, weather-worn, plain-featured, sitting with the quiet calm of the end of a work dayand listening; the other young, blooming, fresh, lovely, with a wealthof youthful charms about her, bending a little over the big book on herlap; on both faces a reverent sweet gravity which was most gracious.Lois read and stopped, without looking up.

"I think small of all the world, alongside o' that promise, Lois."

"And so do I, grandmother."

"But, you see, the Lord's sons and daughters has got to be separatefrom other folks."

"In some ways."

"Of course they've got to live among folks, but they've got to beseparate for all; and keep their garments."

"I do not believe it is easy in a place like New York," said Lois.

"Seems to me I was getting all mixed up."

"'Tain't easy nowheres, child. Only, where the way is very smooth, folks slides quicker."

"How can one be 'separate' always, grandma, in the midst of otherpeople?"

"Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk with him; and you'll bepretty sure to be separate from the most o' folks."

There was no more said. Lois presently closed the book and laid itaway, and the two sat in silence awhile. I will not affirm that Loisdid not feel something of a stricture round her, since she had giventhat promise so clearly. Truly the promise altered nothing, it onlymade things somewhat more tangible; and there floated now and then pastLois's mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned with gracefullocks of luxuriant light brown hair, and a face of winningpleasantness, and eyes that looked eagerly into her eyes. It came upnow before her, this vision, with a certain sense of something lost.Not that she had ever reckoned that image as a thing won; as belonging,or ever possibly to belong, to herself; for Lois never had such athought for a moment. All the same came now the vision before her withthe commentary, – 'You never can have it. That acquain'tance, and thatfriendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the past; and whateverfor another it might have led to, it could lead to nothing for you.' Itwas not a defined thought; rather a floating semi-consciousness; andLois presently rose up and went from thought to action.

CHAPTER IX

THE FAMILY

The spring day was fading into the dusk of evening, when feet andvoices heard outside announced that the travellers were returning. Andin they came, bringing a breeze of business and a number of tied-upparcels with them into the quiet house.

"The table ready! how good! and the fire. O, it's Lois! Lois ishere!" – and then there were warm embraces, and then the old grandmotherwas kissed. There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall.