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Queechy

<h1> Chapter XVI. </h1> <blockquote> Whereunto is money good? Who has it not wants hardihood, Who has it has much trouble and care, Who once has had it has despair. </blockquote> <blockquote> Longfellow. From the German. </blockquote> It was the middle of winter. One day Hugh and Fleda had come home from their walk. They dashed into the parlour, complaining that it was bitterly cold, and began unrobing before the glowing grate, which was a mass of living fire from end to end. Mrs. Rossitur was there in an easy chair, alone and doing nothing. That was not a thing absolutely unheard of, but Fleda had not pulled off her second glove before she bent down towards her and in a changed tone tenderly asked if she did not feel well? Mrs. Rossitur looked up in her face a minute, and then drawing her down kissed the blooming cheeks one and the other several times. But as she looked off to the fire again Fleda saw that it was through watering eyes. She dropped on her knees by the side of the easy chair that she might have a better sight of that face, and tried to read it as she asked again what was the matter; and Hugh coming to the other side repeated her question. His mother passed an arm round each, looking wistfully from one to the other and kissing them earnestly, but she said only, with a very heart-felt emphasis, "Poor children!" Fleda was now afraid to speak, but Hugh pressed his inquiry. "Why 'poor' mamma? what makes you say so?" "Because you are poor really, dear Hugh. We have lost everything we have in the world." "Mamma! What do you mean?" "Your father has failed." "Failed!--But, mamma, I thought he wasn't in business?" "So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur;--"I didn't know people could fail that were not in business; but it seems they can. He was a partner in some concern or other, and it's all broken to pieces, and your father with it, he says." Mrs. Rossitur's face was distressful. They were all silent for a little; Hugh kissing his mother's wet cheeks. Fleda had softly nestled her head in her bosom. But Mrs. Rossitur soon recovered herself. "How bad is it, mother?" said Hugh. "As bad as can possibly be." "Is everything gone?" "Everything." "You don't mean the house, mamma?" "The house, and all that is in it." The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent again, only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympathy and patience if ever a kiss did. "But mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it,--"do you mean to say that everything, literally everything, is gone? is there nothing left?" "Nothing in the world--not a sou." "Then what are we going to do?" Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words. Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her arms round her aunt's neck and laying cheek to cheek, she spoke what comfort she could. "Don't, dear aunt Lucy!--there will be some way--things always turn out better than at first--I dare say we shall find out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we won't. We can be happy anywhere together." If there was not much in the reasoning there was something in the tone of the words to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well. Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint of self-recollection; its sorrow was for her. Mrs. Rossitur felt that she must not shew herself overcome. She again kissed and blessed and pressed closer in her arms her little comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh. "I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle was here telling me just now,--a little while before you came. Don't say anything about it before him." Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably. "What will be done with the house, mamma?" said Hugh. "Sold--sold, and everything in it." "Papa's books, mamma! and all the things in the library!" exclaimed Hugh, looking terrified. Mrs. Rossitur's face gave the answer; do it in words she could not. The children were a long time silent, trying hard to swallow this bitter pill; and still Hugh's hand was in his mother's and Fleda's head lay on her bosom. Thought was busy, going up and down, and breaking the companionship they had so long held with the pleasant drawing-room and the tasteful arrangements among which Fleda was so much at home;--the easy chairs in whose comfortable arms she had had so many an hour of nice reading; the soft rug where in the very wantonness of frolic she had stretched herself to play with King; that very luxurious, bright grateful of fire, which had given her so often the same warm welcome home, an apt introduction to the other stores of comfort which awaited her above and below stairs; the rich-coloured curtains and carpet, the beauty of which had been such a constant gratification to Fleda's eye; and the exquisite French table and lamps they had brought out with them, in which her uncle and aunt had so much pride and which could nowhere be matched for elegance;--they must all be said 'good-bye' to; and as yet fancy had nothing to furnish the future with; it looked very bare. King had come in and wagged himself up close to his mistress, but even he could obtain nothing but the touch of most abstracted finger ends. Yet, though keenly recognized, these thoughts were only passing compared with the anxious and sorrowful ones that went to her aunt and uncle; for Hugh and her, she judged, it was less matter. And Mrs. Rossitur's care was most for her husband; and Hugh's was for them all. His associations were less quick and his tastes less keen than Fleda's and less a part of himself. Hugh lived in his affections; with a salvo to them, he could bear to lose anything and go anywhere. "Mamma," said he after a long time,--"will anything be done with Fleda's books?" A question that had been in Fleda's mind before, but which she had patiently forborne just then to ask. "No indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, pressing Fleda more closely and kissing in a kind of rapture the sweet thoughtful face;--"not yours, my darling; they can't touch anything that belongs to you--I wish it was more--and I don't suppose they will take anything of mine either." "Ah, well!" said Fleda raising her head, "you have got quite a parcel of books, aunt Lucy, and I have a good many--how well it is I have had so many given me since I have been here!--That will make quite a nice little library, both together, and Hugh has some; I thought perhaps we shouldn't have one at all left, and that would have been rather bad." 'Rather bad'! Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and was dumb. "Only don't you wear a sad face for anything!" Fleda went on earnestly;--"we shall be perfectly happy if you and uncle Rolf only will be." "My dear children!" said Mrs. Rossitur wiping her eyes,--"it is for you I am unhappy--you and your uncle;--I do not think of myself." "And we do not think of ourselves, mamma," said Hugh. "I know it--but having good children don't make one care less about them," said Mrs. Rossitur, the tears fairly raining over her fingers. Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the efficacy of his lips. "And you know papa thinks most of you, mamma." "Ah, your father!"--said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head,--"I am afraid it will go hard with him!--But I will be happy as long as I have you two, or else I should be a very wicked woman. It only grieves me to think of your education and prospects--" "Fleda's piano, mamma!" said Hugh with sudden dismay. Mrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, while Fleda stretching across to Hugh gave him by look and touch an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. And then with a sweetness and gentleness like nothing but the breath of the south wind, she wooed her aunt to hope and resignation. Hugh held back, feeling, or thinking, that Fleda could do it better than he, and watching her progress, as Mrs. Rossitur took her hand from her face, and smiled, at first mournfully and then really mirthfully in Fleda's face, at some sally that nobody but a nice observer would have seen was got up for the occasion. And it was hardly that, so completely had the child forgotten her own sorrow in ministering to that of another. "Blessed are the peacemakers"! It is always so. "You are a witch or a fairy," said Mrs. Rossitur, catching her again in her arms,--"nothing else! You must try your powers of charming upon your uncle." Fleda laughed, without any effort; but as to trying her slight wand upon Mr. Rossitur she had serious doubts. And the doubts became certainty when they met at dinner; he looked so grave that she dared not attack him. It was a gloomy meal, for the face that should have lighted the whole table cast a shadow there. Without at all comprehending the whole of her husband's character the sure magnetism of affection had enabled Mrs. Rossitur to divine his thoughts. Pride was his ruling passion; not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was rather like exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscriminate in its choice of objects. It was pride in his family name; pride in his own talents, which were considerable; pride in his family, wife and children and all of which he thought did him honour,--if they had not his love for them assuredly would have known some diminishing; pride in his wealth and in the attractions with which it surrounded him; and lastly, pride in the skill, taste and connoisseurship which enabled him to bring those attractions together. Furthermore, his love for both literature and art was true and strong; and for many years he had accustomed himself to lead a life of great luxuriousness; catering for body and mind in every taste that could be elegantly enjoyed; and again proud of the elegance of every enjoyment. The change of circumstances which touched his pride wounded him at every point where he was vulnerable at all. Fleda had never felt so afraid of him. She was glad to see Dr. Gregory come in to tea. Mr. Rossitur was not there. The doctor did not touch upon affairs, if he had heard of their misfortune; he went on as usual in a rambling cheerful way all tea-time, talking mostly to Fleda and Hugh. But after tea he talked no more but sat still and waited till the master of the house came in. Fleda thought Mr. Rossitur did not look glad to see him. But how could he look glad about anything? He did not sit down, and for a few minutes there was a kind of meaning silence. Fleda sat in the corner with the heartache, to see her uncle's gloomy tramp up and down the rich apartment, and her aunt Lucy gaze at him. "Humph!--well--So!" said the doctor at last,--"You've all gone overboard with a smash, I understand?" The walker gave him no regard. "True, is it?" said the doctor. Mr. Rossitur made no answer, unless a smothered grunt might be taken for one. "How came it about?" "Folly and Devilry." "Humph!--bad capital to work upon. I hope the principal is gone with the interest. What's the amount of your loss?" "Ruin." "Humph.--French ruin, or American ruin? because there's a difference. What do you mean?" "I am not so happy as to understand you sir, but we shall not pay seventy cents on the dollar." The old gentleman got up and stood before the fire with his back to Mr. Rossitur, saying "that was rather bad." "What are you going to do?" Mr. Rossitur hesitated a few moments for an answer and then said, "Pay the seventy cents and begin the world anew with nothing." "Of course!" said the doctor. "I understand that; but where and how? What end of the world will you take up first?" Mr. Rossitur writhed in impatience or disgust, and after again hesitating answered dryly that he had not determined. "Have you thought of anything in particular?" "Zounds! no sir, except my misfortune. That's enough for one day." "And too much," said the old doctor, "unless you can mix some other thought with it. That's what I came for. Will you go into business?" Fleda was startled by the vehemence with which her uncle said, "No, never!"--and he presently added, "I'll do nothing here." "Well,--well," said the doctor to himself;--"Will you go into the country?" "Yes!--anywhere!--the further the better." Mrs. Rossitur startled, but her husband's face did not encourage her to open her lips. "Ay but on a farm, I mean?" "On anything, that will give me a standing." "I thought that too," said Dr. Gregory, now whirling about. "I have a fine piece of land that wants a tenant. You may take it at an easy rate, and pay me when the crops come in. I shouldn't expect so young a farmer, you know, to keep any closer terms." "How far is it?" "Far enough--up in Wyandot County." "How large?" "A matter of two or three hundred acres or so. It is very fine, they say. It came into a fellow's hands that owed me what I thought was a bad debt, so for fear he would never pay me I thought best to take it and pay him; whether the place will ever fill my pockets again remains to be seen; doubtful, I think." "I'll take it, Dr. Gregory, and see if I cannot bring that about." "Pooh, pooh! fill your own. I am not careful about it; the less money one has the more it jingles, unless it gets too low indeed." "I will take it, Dr. Gregory, and feel myself under obligation to you." "No, I told you, not till the crops come in. No obligation is binding till the term is up. Well, I'll see you further about it." "But Rolf!" said Mrs. Rossitur,--"stop a minute, uncle, don't go yet,--Rolf don't know anything in the world about the management of a farm, neither do I." "The 'faire Una' can enlighten you," said the doctor, waving his hand towards his little favourite in the corner,--"but I forgot!--Well, if you don't know, the crops won't come in--that's all the difference." But Mrs. Rossitur looked anxiously at her husband. "Do you know exactly what you are undertaking, Rolf?" she said. "If I do not, I presume I shall discover in time." "But it may be too late," said Mrs Rossitur, in the tone of sad remonstrance that had gone all the length it dared. "It can not be too late!" said her husband impatiently. "If I do not know what I am taking up, I know very well what I am laying down; and it does not signify a straw what comes after--if it was a snail-shell, that would cover my head!" "Hum--" said the old doctor,--"the snail is very well in his way, but I have no idea that he was ever cut out for a farmer." "Do you think you will find it a business you would like, Mr. Rossitur?" said his wife timidly. "I tell you," said he facing about, "it is not a question of liking. I will like anything that will bury me out of the world!" Poor Mrs. Rossitur. She had not yet come to wishing herself buried alive, and she had small faith in the permanence of her husband's taste for it. She looked desponding. "You don't suppose," said Mr. Rossitur stopping again in the middle of the floor after another turn and a half,--"you do not suppose that I am going to take the labouring of the farm upon myself? I shall employ some one of course, who understands the matter, to take all that off my hands." The doctor thought of the old proverb and the alternative the plough presents to those who would thrive by it; Fleda thought of Mr. Didenhover; Mrs. Rossitur would fain have suggested that such an important person must be well paid; but neither of them spoke. "Of course," said Mr. Rossitur haughtily as he went on with his walk, "I do not expect any more than you to live in the back-woods the life we have been leading here. That is at an end." "Is it a very wild country?" asked Mrs. Rossitur of the doctor. "No wild beasts, my dear, if that is your meaning,--and I do not suppose there are even many snakes left by this time." "No, but dear uncle, I mean, is it in an unsettled state?" "No my dear, not at all,--perfectly quiet." "Ah but do not play with me," exclaimed poor Mrs. Rossitur between laughing and crying;--"I mean is it far from any town and not among neighbours?" "Far enough to be out of the way of morning calls," said the doctor;--"and when your neighbours come to see you they will expect tea by four o'clock. There are not a great many near by, but they don't mind coming from five or six miles off." Mrs. Rossitur looked chilled and horrified. To her he had described a very wild country indeed. Fleda would have laughed if it had not been for her aunt's face; but that settled down into a doubtful anxious look that pained her. It pained the old doctor too. "Come," said he touching her pretty chin with his forefinger,--"what are you thinking of? folks may be good folks and yet have tea at four o'clock, mayn't they?" "When do they have dinner!" said Mrs. Rossitur. "I really don't know. When you get settled up there I'll come and see." "Hardly," said Mrs. Rossitur. "I don't believe it would be possible for Emile to get dinner before the tea-time; and I am sure I shouldn't like to propose such a thing to Mrs. Renney." The doctor fidgeted about a little on the hearth-rug and looked comical, perfectly understood by one acute observer in the corner. "Are you wise enough to imagine, Lucy," said Mr. Rossitur sternly, "that you can carry your whole establishment with you? What do you suppose Emile and Mrs. Renney would do in a farmhouse?" "I can do without whatever you can," said Mrs. Rossitur meekly. "I did not know that you would be willing to part with Emile, and I do not think Mrs. Renney would like to leave us." "I told you before, it is no more a question of liking," answered he. "And if it were," said the doctor, "I have no idea that Monsieur Emile and Madame Renney would be satisfied with the style of a country kitchen, or think the interior of Yankee land a hopeful sphere for their energies." "What sort of a house is it?" said Mrs. Rossitur. "A wooden frame house, I believe." "No but, dear uncle, do tell me." "What sort of a house?--Humph--Large enough, I am told. It will accommodate you, in one way." "Comfortable?" "I don't know," said the doctor shaking his head;--"depends on who's in it. No house is that per se. But I reckon there isn't much plate glass. I suppose you'll find the doors all painted blue, and every fireplace with a crane in it." "A crane!" said Mrs. Rossitur, to whose imagination the word suggested nothing but a large water-bird with a long neck. "Ay!" said the doctor. "But it's just as well. You won't want hanging lamps there,--and candelabra would hardly be in place either, to hold tallow candles." "Tallow candles!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur. Her husband winced, but said nothing. "Ay," said the doctor again,--"and make them yourself if you are a good housewife. Come, Lucy," said he taking her hand, "do you know how the wild fowl do on the Chesapeake?--duck and swim under water till they can shew their heads with safety? O spoil your eyes to see by a tallow candle." Mrs. Rossitur half smiled, but looked anxiously towards her husband. "Pooh, pooh! Rolf won't care what the light burns that lights him to independence,--and when you get there you may illuminate with a whole whale if you like. By the way, Rolf, there is a fine water power up yonder, and a saw-mill in good order, they tell me, but a short way from the house. Hugh might learn to manage it, and it would be fine employment for him." "Hugh!" said his mother disconsolately. Mr. Rossitur neither spoke nor looked an answer. Fleda sprang forward. "A saw-mill!--Uncle Orrin!--where is it?" "Just a little way from the house, they say. You can't manage it, fair Saxon!--though you look as if you would undertake all the mills in creation, for a trifle." "No but the place, uncle Orrin;--where is the place?" "The place? Hum--why it's up in Wyandot County--some five or six miles from the Montepoole Spring--what's this they call it?--Queechy!--By the way!" said he, reading Fleda's countenance, "it is the very place where your father was born!--it is! I didn't think of that before." Fleda's hands were clasped. "O I am very glad!" she said. "It's my old home. It is the most lovely place, aunt Lucy!--most lovely--and we shall have some good neighbours there too. O I am very glad!--The dear old saw-mill!--" "Dear old saw-mill!" said the doctor looking at her. "Rolf, I'll tell you what, you shall give me this girl. I want her. I can take better care of her, perhaps, now than you can. Let her come to me when you leave the city--it will be better for her than to help work the saw-mill; and I have as good a right to her as anybody, for Amy before her was like my own child." The doctor spoke not with his usual light jesting manner but very seriously. Hugh's lips parted,--Mrs. Rossitur looked with a sad thoughtful look at Fleda,--Mr. Rossitur walked up and down looking at nobody. Fleda watched him. "What does Fleda herself say?" said he stopping short suddenly. His face softened and his eye changed as it fell upon her, for the first time that day. Fleda saw her opening; she came to him, within his arms, and laid her head upon his breast. "What does Fleda say?" said he, softly kissing her. Fleda's tears said a good deal, that needed no interpreter. She felt her uncle's hand passed more and more tenderly over her head, so tenderly that it made it all the more difficult for her to govern herself and stop her tears. But she did stop them, and looked up at him then with such a face--so glowing through smiles and tears--it was like a very rainbow of hope upon the cloud of their prospects. Mr. Rossitur felt the power of the sunbeam wand, it reached his heart; it was even with a smile that he said as he looked at her, "Will you go to your uncle Orrin, Fleda?" "Not if uncle Rolf will keep me." "Keep you!" said Mr. Rossitur;--"I should like to see who wouldn't keep you!--There, Dr. Gregory, you have your answer." "Hum!--I might have known," said the doctor, "that the 'faire Una' would abjure cities.--Come here, you Elf!"--and he wrapped her in his arms so tight she could not stir,--"I have a spite against you for this. What amends will you make me for such an affront?" "Let me take breath," said Fleda laughing, "and I'll tell you. You don't want any amends, uncle Orrin." "Well," said he, gazing with more feeling than he cared to shew into that sweet face, so innocent of apology-making,--"you shall promise me that you will not forget uncle Orrin and the old house in Bleecker street." Fleda's eyes grew more wistful. "And will you promise me that if ever you want anything you will come or send straight there?" "If ever I want anything I can't get nor do without," said Fleda. "Pshaw!" said the doctor letting her go, but laughing at the same time. "Mind my words, Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur;--if ever that girl takes the wrong bit in her mouth--Well, well! I'll go home." Home he went. The rest drew together particularly near, round the fire; Hugh at his father's shoulder, and Fleda kneeling on the rug between her uncle and aunt with a hand on each; and there was not one of them whose gloom was not lightened by her bright face and cheerful words of hope that in the new scenes they were going to, "they would all be so happy." The days that followed were gloomy; but Fleda's ministry was unceasing. Hugh seconded her well, though more passively. Feeling less pain himself, he perhaps for that very reason was less acutely alive to it in others; not so quick to foresee and ward off, not so skilful to allay it. Fleda seemed to have intuition for the one and a charm for the other. To her there was pain in every parting; her sympathies clung to whatever wore the livery of habit. There was hardly any piece of furniture, there was no book or marble or picture, that she could take leave of without a pang. But it was kept to herself; her sorrowful good-byes were said in secret; before others, in all those weeks she was a very Euphrosyne; light, bright, cheerful, of eye and foot and hand; a shield between her aunt and every annoyance that she could take instead; a good little fairy, that sent her sunbeam wand, quick as a flash, where any eye rested gloomily. People did not always find out where the light came from, but it was her witchery. The creditors would touch none of Mrs. Rossitur's things, her husband's honourable behaviour had been so thorough. They even presented him with one or two pictures which he sold for a considerable sum; and to Mrs. Rossitur they gave up all the plate in daily use; a matter of great rejoicing to Fleda who knew well how sorely it would have been missed. She and her aunt had quite a little library too, of their own private store; a little one it was indeed, but the worth of every volume was now trebled in her eyes. Their furniture was all left behind; and in its stead went some of neat light painted wood which looked to Fleda deliciously countryfied. A promising cook and housemaid were engaged to go with them to the wilds; and about the first of April they turned their backs upon the city. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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