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Queechy

<h1> Chapter XX. </h1> <blockquote> With superfluity of breeding First makes you sick, and then with feeding. </blockquote> <blockquote> Jenyns. </blockquote> Miss Anastasia was a little surprised and a good deal gratified, Fleda saw, by her coming, and played the hostess with great benignity. The quilting-frame was stretched in an upper room, not in the long kitchen, to Fleda's joy; most of the company were already seated at it, and she had to go through a long string of introductions before she was permitted to take her place. First of all Earl Douglass's wife, who rose up and taking both Fleda's hands squeezed and shook them heartily, giving her with eye and lip a most genial welcome. This lady had every look of being a very clever woman; "a manager" she was said to be; and indeed her very nose had a little pinch which prepared one for nothing superfluous about her. Even her dress could not have wanted another breadth from the skirt and had no fulness to spare about the body. Neat as a pin though; and a well-to-do look through it all. Miss Quackenboss Fleda recognised as an old friend, gilt beads and all. Catherine Douglass had grown up to a pretty girl during the five years since Fleda had left Queechy, and gave her a greeting half smiling, half shy. There was a little more affluence about the flow of her drapery, and the pink ribbon round her neck was confined by a little dainty Jew's harp of a brooch; she had her mother's pinch of the nose too. Then there were two other young ladies;--Miss Letitia Ann Thornton, a tall grown girl in pantalettes, evidently a would-be aristocrat from the air of her head and lip, with a well-looking face and looking well knowing of the same, and sporting neat little white cuffs at her wrists, the only one who bore such a distinction. The third of these damsels, Jessie Healy, impressed Fleda with having been brought up upon coarse meat and having grown heavy in consequence; the other two were extremely fair and delicate, both in complexion and feature. Her aunt Syra Fleda recognised without particular pleasure and managed to seat herself at the quilt with the sewing-woman and Miss Hannah between them. Miss Lucy Finn she found seated at her right hand, but after all the civilities she had just gone through Fleda had not courage just then to dash into business with her, and Miss Lucy herself stitched away and was dumb. So were the rest of the party--rather. The presence of the new-comer seemed to have the effect of a spell. Fleda could not think they had been as silent before her joining them as they were for some time afterwards. The young ladies were absolutely mute, and conversation seemed to flag even among the elder ones; and if Fleda ever raised her eyes from the quilt to look at somebody she was sure to see somebody's eyes looking at her, with a curiosity well enough defined and mixed with a more or less amount of benevolence and pleasure. Fleda was growing very industrious and feeling her cheeks grow warm, when the checked stream of conversation began to take revenge by turning its tide upon her. "Are you glad to be back to Queechy, Fleda?" said Mrs. Douglass from the opposite far end of the quilt. "Yes ma'am," said Fleda, smiling back her answer,--"on some accounts." "Ain't she growed like her father, Mis' Douglass?" said the sewing woman. "Do you recollect Walter Ringgan--what a handsome feller he was?" The two opposite girls immediately found something to say to each other. "She ain't a bit more like him than she is like her mother," said Mrs. Douglass, biting off the end of her thread energetically. "Amy Ringgan was a sweet good woman as ever was in this town." Again her daughter's glance and smile went over to the speaker. "You stay in Queechy and live like Queechy folks do," Mrs. Douglass added, nodding encouragingly, "and you'll beat both on 'em." But this speech jarred, and Fleda wished it had not been spoken. "How does your uncle like farming?" said aunt Syra. A home-thrust, which Fleda parried by saying he had hardly got accustomed to it yet. "What's been his business? what has he been doing all his life till now?" said the sewing-woman. Fleda replied that he had had no business; and after the minds of the company had had time to entertain this statement she was startled by Miss Lucy's voice at her elbow. "It seems kind o' curious, don't it, that a man should live to be forty or fifty years old and not know anything of the earth he gets his bread from?" "What makes you think he don't?" said Miss Thornton rather tartly. "She wa'n't speaking o' nobody," said aunt Syra. "I was--I was speaking of man--I was speaking abstractly," said Fleda's right hand neighbour. "What's abstractly?" said Miss Anastasia scornfully. "Where do you get hold of such hard words, Lucy?" said Mrs. Douglass. "I don't know, Mis' Douglass;--they come to me;--it's practice, I suppose. I had no intention of being obscure." "One kind o' word's as easy as another I suppose, when you're used to it, ain't it?" said the sewing-woman. "What's abstractly?" said the mistress of the house again. "Look in the dictionary, if you want to know," said her sister. "I don't want to know--I only want you to tell." "When do you get time for it, Lucy? ha'n't you nothing else to practise?" pursued Mrs. Douglass. "Yes, Mis' Douglass; but then there are times for exertion, and other times less disposable; and when I feel thoughtful, or low, I commonly retire to my room and contemplate the stars or write a composition." The sewing-woman greeted this speech with an unqualified ha! ha! and Fleda involuntarily raised her head to look at the last speaker; but there was nothing to be noticed about her, except that she was in rather nicer order than the rest of the Finn family. "Did you get home safe last night?" inquired Miss Quackenboss, bending forward over the quilt to look down to Fleda. Fleda thanked her, and replied that they had been overturned and had several ribs broken. "And where have you been, Fleda, all this while?" said Mrs. Douglass. Fleda told, upon which all the quilting-party raised their heads simultaneously to take another review of her. "Your uncle's wife ain't a Frenchwoman, be she?" asked the sewing-woman. Fleda said "oh no"--and Miss Quackenboss remarked that "she thought she wa'n't;" whereby Fleda perceived it had been a subject of discussion. "She lives like one, don't she?" said aunt Syra. Which imputation Fleda also refuted to the best of her power. "Well, don't she have dinner in the middle of the afternoon?" pursued aunt Syra. Fleda was obliged to admit that. "And she can't eat without she has a fresh piece of roast meat on table every day, can she?" "It is not always roast," said Fleda, half vexed and half laughing. "I'd rather have a good dish o' bread and 'lasses than the hull on't;" observed old Mrs. Finn; from the corner where she sat manifestly turning up her nose at the far-off joints on Mrs. Rossitur's dinner-table. The girls on the other side of the quilt again held counsel together, deep and low. "Well didn't she pick up all them notions in that place yonder?--where you say she has been?" aunt Syra went on. "No," said Fleda; "everybody does so in New York." "I want to know what kind of a place New York is, now," said old Mrs. Finn drawlingly. "I s'pose it's pretty big, ain't it?" Fleda replied that it was. "I shouldn't wonder if it was a'most as far as from here to Queechy Run, now, ain't it?" The distance mentioned being somewhere about one-eighth of New York's longest diameter, Fleda answered that it was quite as far. "I s'pose there's plenty o' mighty rich folks there, ain't there?" "Plenty, I believe," said Fleda. "I should hate to live in it awfully!" was the old woman's conclusion. "I should admire to travel in many countries," said Miss Lucy, for the first time seeming to intend her words particularly for Fleda's ear. "I think nothing makes people more genteel. I have observed it frequently." Fleda said it was very pleasant; but though encouraged by this opening could not muster enough courage to ask if Miss Lucy had a "notion" to come and prove their gentility. Her next question was startling,--if Fleda had ever studied mathematics? "No," said Fleda. "Have you?" "O my, yes! There was a lot of us concluded we would learn it; and we commenced to study it a long time ago. I think it's a most elevating--" The discussion was suddenly broken off, for the sewing-woman exclaimed, as the other sister came in and took her seat, "Why Hannah! you ha'n't been makin' bread with that crock on your hands!" "Well Mis' Barnes!" said the girl,--"I've washed 'em, and I've made bread with 'em, and even that didn't take it off!" "Do you look at the stars, too, Hannah?" said Mrs. Douglass. Amidst a small hubbub of laugh and talk which now became general, poor Fleda fell back upon one single thought--one wish; that Hugh would come to fetch her home before tea-time. But it was a vain hope. Hugh was not to be there till sundown, and supper was announced long before that. They all filed down, and Fleda with them, to the great kitchen below stairs; and she found herself placed in the seat of honour indeed, but an honour she would gladly have escaped, at Miss Anastasia's right hand. A temporary locked-jaw would have been felt a blessing. Fleda dared hardly even look about her; but under the eye of her hostess the instinct of good-breeding was found sufficient to swallow everything; literally and figuratively. There was a good deal to swallow. The usual variety of cakes, sweetmeats, beef, cheese, biscuits, and pies, was set out with some peculiarity of arrangement which Fleda had never seen before, and which left that of Miss Quackenboss elegant by comparison. Down each side of the table ran an advanced guard of little sauces, in Indian file, but in companies of three, the file leader of each being a saucer of custard, its follower a ditto of preserves, and the third keeping a sharp look-out in the shape of pickles; and to Fleda's unspeakable horror she discovered that the guests were expected to help themselves at will from these several stores with their own spoons, transferring what they took either to their own plates or at once to its final destination, which last mode several of the company preferred. The advantage of this plan was the necessary great display of the new silver tea-spoons which Mrs. Douglass slyly hinted to aunt Syra were the moving cause of the tea-party. But aunt Syra swallowed sweetmeats and would not give heed. There was no relief for poor Fleda. Aunt Syra was her next neighbour, and opposite to her, at Miss Anastasia's left hand, was the disagreeable countenance and peering eyes of the old crone her mother. Fleda kept her own eyes fixed upon her plate and endeavoured to see nothing but that. "Why here's Fleda ain't eating anything," said Mrs. Douglass. "Won't you have some preserves? take some custard, do!--Anastasy, she ha'n't a spoon--no wonder!" Fleda had secretly conveyed hers under cover. "There was one," said Miss Anastasia, looking about where one should have been,--"I'll get another as soon as I give Mis' Springer her tea." "Ha'n't you got enough to go round?" said the old woman plucking at her daughter's sleeve,--"Anastasy!--ha'n't you got enough to go round?" This speech which was spoken with a most spiteful simplicity Miss Anastasia answered with superb silence, and presently produced spoons enough to satisfy herself and the company. But Fleda! No earthly persuasion could prevail upon her to touch pickles, sweetmeats, or custard, that evening; and even in the bread and cakes she had a vision of hands before her that took away her appetite. She endeavoured to make a shew with hung beef and cups of tea, which indeed was not Pouchong; but her supper came suddenly to an end upon a remark of her hostess, addressed to the whole table, that they needn't be surprised if they found any bite of pudding in the gingerbread, for it was made from the molasses the children left the other day. Who "the children" were Fleda did not know, neither was it material. It was sundown, but Hugh had not come when they went to the upper rooms again. Two were open now, for they were small and the company promised not to be such. Fathers and brothers and husbands began to come, and loud talking and laughing and joking took place of the quilting chit-chat. Fleda would fain have absorbed herself in the work again, but though the frame still stood there the minds of the company were plainly turned aside from their duty, or perhaps they thought that Miss Anastasia had had admiration enough to dispense with service. Nobody shewed a thimble but one or two old ladies; and as numbers and spirits gathered strength, a kind of romping game was set on foot in which a vast deal of kissing seemed to be the grand wit of the matter. Fleda shrank away out of sight behind the open door of communication between the two rooms, pleading with great truth that she was tired and would like to keep perfectly quiet; and she had soon the satisfaction of being apparently forgotten. In the other room some of the older people were enjoying themselves more soberly. Fleda's ear was too near the crack of the door not to have the benefit of more of their conversation than she cared for. It soon put quiet of mind out of the question. "He'll twist himself up pretty short; that's my sense of it; and he won't take long to do it, nother," said Earl Douglass's voice. Fleda would have known it anywhere from its extreme peculiarity. It never either rose or fell much from a certain pitch; and at that level the words gurgled forth, seemingly from an ever-brimming fountain; he never wanted one; and the stream had neither let nor stay till his modicum of sense had fairly run out. People thought he had not a greater stock of that than some of his neighbours; but he issued an amount of word-currency sufficient for the use of the county. "He'll run himself agin a post pretty quick," said uncle Joshua in a confirmatory tone of voice. Fleda had a confused idea that somebody was going to hang himself. "He ain't a workin' things right," said Douglass,--"he ain't a workin' things right; he's takin' hold o' everything by the tail end. He ain't studied the business; he doesn't know when things is right, and he doesn't know when things is wrong;--and if they're wrong he don't know how to set 'em right. He's got a feller there that ain't no more fit to be there than I am to be Vice President of the United States; and I ain't a going to say what I think I am fit for, but I ha'n't studied for that place and I shouldn't like to stand an examination for't; and a man hadn't ought to be a farmer no more if he ha'n't qualified himself. That's my idee. I like to see a thing done well if it's to be done at all; and there ain't a stitch o' land been laid right on the hull farm, nor a furrow driv' as it had ought to be, since he come on to it; and I say, Squire Springer, a man ain't going to get along in that way, and he hadn't ought to. I work hard myself, and I calculate to work hard; and I make a livin by't; and I'm content to work hard. When I see a man with his hands in his pockets, I think he'll have nothin' else in 'em soon. I don't believe he's done a hand's turn himself on the land the hull season!" And upon this Mr. Douglass brought up. "My son Lucas has been workin' with him, off and on, pretty much the hull time since he come; and he says he ha'n't begun to know how to spell farmer yet." "Ay, ay! My wife--she's a little harder on folks than I be--I think it ain't worth while to say nothin' of a man without I can say some good of him--that's my idee--and it don't do no harm, nother,--but my wife, she says he's got to let down his notions a peg or two afore they'll hitch just in the right place; and I won't say but what I think she ain't maybe fur from right. If a man's above his business he stands a pretty fair chance to be below it some day. I won't say myself, for I haven't any acquaintance with him, and a man oughtn't to speak but of what he is knowing to,--but I have heerd say, that he wa'n't as conversationable as it would ha' been handsome in him to be, all things considerin'. There seems to be a good many things said of him, somehow, and I always think men don't talk of a man if he don't give 'em occasion; but anyhow I've been past the farm pretty often myself this summer, workin' with Seth Plumfield; and I've took notice of things myself; and I know he's been makin' beds o' sparrowgrass when he had ought to ha' been makin' fences, and he's been helpin' that little girl o' his'n set her flowers, when he would ha' been better sot to work lookin' after his Irishman; but I don't know as it made much matter nother, for if he went wrong Mr. Rossitur wouldn't know how to set him right, and if he was a going right Mr. Rossitur would ha' been just as likely to ha' set him wrong. Well I'm sorry for him!" "Mr. Rossitur is a most gentlemanlike man," said the voice of Dr. Quackenboss. "Ay,--I dare say he is," Earl responded in precisely the same tone. "I was down to his house one day last summer to see him.--He wa'n't to hum, though." "It would be strange if harm come to a man with such a guardian angel in the house as that man has in his'n," said Dr. Quackenboss. "Well she's a pretty creetur'!" said Douglass, looking up with some animation. "I wouldn't blame any man that sot a good deal by her. I will say I think she's as handsome as my own darter; and a man can't go no furder than that I suppose." "She won't help his farming much, I guess," said uncle Joshua,--"nor his wife, nother." Fleda heard Dr. Quackenboss coming through the doorway and started from her corner for fear he might find her out there and know what she had heard. He very soon found her out in the new place she had chosen and came up to pay his compliments. Fleda was in a mood for anything but laughing, yet the mixture of the ludicrous which the doctor administered set her nerves a twitching. Bringing his chair down sideways at one angle and his person at another, so as to meet at the moment of the chair's touching the floor, and with a look and smile slanting to match, the doctor said, "Well, Miss Ringgan, has--a--Mrs. Rossitur,--does she feel herself reconciled yet?" "Reconciled, sir?" said Fleda. "Yes--a--to Queechy?" "She never quarrelled with it, sir," said Fleda, quite unable to keep from laughing. "Yes,--I mean--a--she feels that she can sustain her spirits in different situations?" "She is very well, sir, thank you." "It must have been a great change to her--and to you all--coming to this place." "Yes, sir; the country is very different from the city." "In what part of New York was Mr. Rossitur's former residence?" "In State street, sir." "State street,--that is somewhere in the direction of the Park?" "No, sir, not exactly." "Was Mrs. Rossitur a native of the city?" "Not of New York. O Hugh, my dear Hugh," exclaimed Fleda in another tone,--"what have you been thinking of?" "Father wanted me," said Hugh. "I could not help it, Fleda." "You are not going to have the cruelty to take your--a--cousin away, Mr. Rossitur?" said the doctor. But Fleda was for once happy to be cruel; she would hear no remonstrances. Though her desire for Miss Lucy's "help" had considerably lessened she thought she could not in politeness avoid speaking on the subject, after being invited there on purpose. But Miss Lucy said she "calculated to stay at home this winter," unless she went to live with somebody at Kenton for the purpose of attending a course of philosophy lectures that she heard were to be given there. So that matter was settled; and clasping Hugh's arm Fleda turned away from the house with a step and heart both lightened by the joy of being out of it. "I couldn't come sooner, Fleda," said Hugh. "No matter--O I'm so glad to be away! Walk a little faster, dear Hugh.--Have you missed me at home?" "Do you want me to say no or yes?" said Hugh smiling. "We did very well--mother and I--and I have left everything ready to have tea the minute you get home. What sort of a time have you had?" In answer to which Fleda gave him a long history; and then they walked on awhile in silence. The evening was still and would have been dark but for the extreme brilliancy of the stars through the keen clear atmosphere. Fleda looked up at them and drew large draughts of bodily and mental refreshment with the bracing air. "Do you know to-morrow will be Thanksgiving day?" "Ye--what made you think of it?" "They were talking about it--they make a great fuss here Thanksgiving day." "I don't think we shall make much of a fuss," said Hugh. "I don't think we shall. I wonder what I shall do--I am afraid uncle Rolf will get tired of coffee and omelettes in the course of time; and my list of receipts is very limited." "It is a pity you didn't beg one of Mrs. Renney's books," said Hugh laughing. "If you had only known--" "'Tisn't too late!" said Fleda quickly,--"I'll send to New York for one. I will! I'll ask uncle Orrin to get it for me. That's the best thought!--" "But, Fleda! you're not going to turn cook in that fashion?" "It would be no harm to have the book," said Fleda. "I can tell you we mustn't expect to get anybody here that can make an omelette, or even coffee, that uncle Rolf will drink. Oh Hugh!--" "What?" "I don't know where we are going to get anybody!--But don't say anything to aunt Lucy about it." "Well, we can keep Thanksgiving day, Fleda, without a dinner," said Hugh cheerfully. "Yes indeed; I am sure I can--after being among these people to-night. How much I have that they want! Look at the Great Bear over there!--isn't that better than New York?" "The Great Bear hangs over New York too," Hugh said with a smile. "Ah but it isn't the same thing. Heaven hasn't the same eyes for the city and the country." As Hugh and Fleda went quick up to the kitchen door they overtook a dark figure, at whom looking narrowly as she passed, Fleda recognised Seth Plumfield. He was joyfully let into the kitchen, and there proved to be the bearer of a huge dish carefully covered with a napkin. "Mother guessed you hadn't any Thanksgiving ready," he said,--"and she wanted to send this down to you; so I thought I would come and fetch it myself." "O thank her! and thank you, cousin Seth;--how good you are?" "Mother ha'n't lost her old trick at 'em," said he, "so I hope that's good." "O I know it is," said Fleda. "I remember aunt Miriam's Thanksgiving chicken-pies. Now, cousin Seth, you must come in and see aunt Lucy." "No," said he quietly,--"I've got my farm-boots on--I guess I won't see anybody but you." But Fleda would not suffer that, and finding she could not move him she brought her aunt out into the kitchen. Mrs. Rossitur's manner of speaking and thanking him quite charmed Seth, and he went away with a kindly feeling towards those gentle bright eyes which he never forgot. "Now we've something for to-morrow, Hugh!" said Fleda;--"and such a chicken-pie I can tell you as you never saw. Hugh, isn't it odd how different a thing is in different circumstances? You don't know how glad I was when I put my hands upon that warm pie-dish and knew what it was; and when did I ever care in New York about Emile's doings?" "Except the almond gauffres," said Hugh smiling. "I never thought to be so glad of a chicken-pie," said Fleda, shaking her head. Aunt Miriam's dish bore out Fleda's praise, in the opinion of all that tasted it; for such fowls, such butter, and such cream, as went to its composition could hardly be known but in an unsophisticated state of society. But one pie could not last for ever; and as soon as the signs of dinner were got rid of, Thanksgiving day though it was, poor Fleda was fain to go up the hill to consult aunt Miriam about the possibility of getting "help." "I don't know, dear Fleda," said she;--"if you cannot get Lucy Finn--I don't know who else there is you can get. Mrs. Toles wants both her daughters at home I know this winter, because she is sick; and Marietta Winchel is working at aunt Syra's;--I don't know--Do you remember Barby Elster, that used to live with me?" "O yes!" "She might go--she has been staying at home these two years, to take care of her old mother, that's the reason she left me; but she has another sister come home now,--Hetty, that married and went to Montepoole,--she's lost her husband and come home to live; so perhaps Barby would go out again. But I don't know,--how do you think your aunt Lucy would get along with her?" "Dear aunt Miriam! you know we must do as we can. We must have somebody." "Barby is a little quick," said Mrs. Plumfield, "but I think she is good-hearted, and she is thorough, and faithful as the day is long. If your aunt and uncle can put up with her ways." "I am sure we can, aunt Miriam. Aunt Lucy's the easiest person in the world to please, and I'll try and keep her away from uncle Rolf. I think we can get along. I know Barby used to like me." "But then Barby knows nothing about French cooking, my child; she can do nothing but the common country things. What will your uncle and aunt say to that?" "I don't know," said Fleda, "but anything is better than nothing. I must try and do what she can't do. I'll come up and get you to teach me, aunt Miriam." Aunt Miriam hugged and kissed her before speaking. "I'll teach you what I know, my darling;--and now we'll go right off and see Barby--we shall catch her just in a good time." It was a poor little unpainted house, standing back from the road, and with a double row of boards laid down to serve as a path to it. But this board-walk was scrubbed perfectly clean. They went in without knocking. There was nobody there but an old woman seated before the fire shaking all over with the St. Vitus's Dance. She gave them no salutation, calling instead on "Barby!"--who presently made her appearance from the inner door. "Barby!--who's this?" "That's Mis' Plumfield, mother," said the daughter, speaking loud as to a deaf person. The old lady immediately got up and dropped a very quick and what was meant to be a very respect-shewing curtsey, saying at the same time with much deference and with one of her involuntary twitches,--"I ''maun' to know!"--The sense of the ludicrous and the feeling of pity together were painfully oppressive. Fleda turned away to the daughter who came forward and shook hands with a frank look of pleasure at the sight of her elder visitor. "Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, "this is little Fleda Ringgan--do you remember her?" "I 'mind to know!" said Barby, transferring her hand to Fleda's and giving it a good squeeze.--"She's growed a fine gal, Mis' Plumfield. You ha'n't lost none of your good looks--ha' you kept all your old goodness along with 'em?" Fleda laughed at this abrupt question, and said she didn't know. "If you ha'n't, I wouldn't give much for your eyes," said Barby letting go her hand. Mrs. Plumfield laughed too at Barby's equivocal mode of complimenting. "Who's that young gal, Barby?" inquired Mrs. Elster. "That's Mis' Plumfield's niece, mother!" "She's a handsome little creetur, ain't she?" They all laughed at that, and Fleda's cheeks growing crimson, Mrs. Plumfield stepped forward to ask after the old lady's health; and while she talked and listened Fleda's eyes noted the spotless condition of the room--the white table, the nice rag-carpet, the bright many-coloured patch-work counterpane on the bed, the brilliant cleanliness of the floor where the small carpet left the boards bare, the tidy look of the two women; and she made up her mind that she could get along with Miss Barbara very well. Barby was rather tall, and in face decidedly a fine-looking woman, though her figure had the usual scantling proportions which nature or fashion assigns to the hard-working dwellers in the country. A handsome quick grey eye and the mouth were sufficiently expressive of character, and perhaps of temper, but there were no lines of anything sinister or surly; you could imagine a flash, but not a cloud. "Barby, you are not tied at home any longer, are you?" said Mrs. Plumfield, coming back from the old lady and speaking rather low;--"now that Hetty is here, can't your mother spare you?" "Well I reckon she could, Mis' Plumfield,--if I could work it so that she'd be more comfortable by my being away." "Then you'd have no objection to go out again?" "Where to?" "Fleda's uncle, you know, has taken my brother's old place, and they have no help. They want somebody to take the whole management--just you, Barby. Mrs. Rossitur isn't strong." "Nor don't want to be, does she? I've heerd tell of her. Mis' Plumfield, I should despise to have as many legs and arms as other folks and not be able to help myself!" "But you wouldn't despise to help other folks, I hope," said Mrs. Plumfield smiling. "People that want you very much too," said Fleda; for she quite longed to have that strong hand and healthy eye to rely upon at home. Barby looked at her with a relaxed face, and after a little consideration said "she guessed she'd try." "Mis' Plumfield," cried the old lady as they were moving,--"Mis' Plumfield, you said you'd send me a piece of pork." "I haven't forgotten it, Mrs. Elster--you shall have it." "Well you get it out for me yourself," said the old woman speaking very energetically,--"don't you send no one else to the barrel for't; because I know you'll give me the biggest piece." Mrs. Plumfield laughed and promised. "I'll come up and work it out some odd day," said the daughter nodding intelligently as she followed them to the door. "We'll talk about that," said Mrs. Plumfield. "She was wonderful pleased with the pie," said Barby, "and so was Hetty; she ha'n't seen anything so good, she says, since she quit Queechy." "Well, Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, as she turned and grasped her hand, "did you remember your Thanksgiving over it?" "Yes, Mis' Plumfield," and the fine grey eyes fell to the floor,--"but I minded it only because it had come from you. I seemed to hear you saying just that out of every bone I picked." "You minded my message," said the other gently. "Well I don't mind the things I had ought to most," said Barby in a subdued voice,--"never!--'cept mother--I ain't very apt to forget her." Mrs. Plumfield saw a tell-tale glittering beneath the drooping eye-lid. She added no more but a sympathetic strong squeeze of the hand she held, and turned to follow Fleda who had gone on ahead. "Mis' Plumfield!" said Barby, before they had reached the stile that led into the road, where Fleda was standing,--"Will I be sure of having the money regular down yonder? You know I hadn't ought to go otherways, on account of mother." "Yes, it will be sure," said Mrs. Plumfield,--"and regular;" adding quietly, "I'll make it so." There was a bond for the whole amount in aunt Miriam's eyes; and quite satisfied, Barby went back to the house. "Will she expect to come to our table, aunt Miriam?" said Fleda when they had walked a little way. "No--she will not expect that--but Barby will want a different kind of managing from those Irish women of yours. She won't bear to be spoken to in a way that don't suit her notions of what she thinks she deserves; and perhaps your aunt and uncle will think her notions rather high--I don't know." "There is no difficulty with aunt Lucy," said Fleda;--"and I guess I can manage uncle Rolf--I'll try. I like her very much." "Barby is very poor," said Mrs. Plumfield; "she has nothing but her own earnings to support herself and her old mother, and now I suppose her sister and her child; for Hetty is a poor thing--never did much, and now I suppose does nothing." "Are those Finns poor, aunt Miriam?" "O no--not at all--they are very well off." "So I thought--they seemed to have plenty of everything, and silver spoons and all. But why then do they go out to work?" "They are a little too fond of getting money I expect," said aunt Miriam. "And they are a queer sort of people rather--the mother is queer and the children are queer--they ain't like other folks exactly--never were." "I am very glad we are to have Barby instead of that Lucy Finn," said Fleda. "O aunt Miriam! you can't think how much easier my heart feels." "Poor child!" said aunt Miriam looking at her. "But it isn't best, Fleda, to have things work too smooth in this world." "No, I suppose not," said Fleda sighing. "Isn't it very strange, aunt Miriam, that it should make people worse instead of better to have everything go pleasantly with them?" "It is because they are apt then to be so full of the present that they forget the care of the future." "Yes, and forget there is anything better than the present, I suppose," said Fleda. "So we mustn't fret at the ways our Father takes to keep us from hurting ourselves?" said aunt Miriam cheerfully. "O no!" said Fleda, looking up brightly in answer to the tender manner in which these words were spoken;--"and I didn't mean that this is much of a trouble--only I am very glad to think that somebody is coming to-morrow." Aunt Miriam thought that gentle unfretful face could not stand in need of much discipline. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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