"It hurts my taste," said Lois; "and so it is uncomfortable. If Mrs.Barclay comes, I should certainly get some plated forks. Half a dozenwould not cost much."

"Mother," said Charity, "speak to Lois! She's getting right worldly, Ithink. Set her right, mother!"

"It is something I don't understand," said the old lady gravely. "Steelforks were good enough for anybody in the land, when I was young. Idon't see, for my part, why they ain't just as good now."

Lois wisely left this question unanswered.

"But you think we ought to let this lady come, mother, don't you?"

"My dear," said Mrs. Armadale, "I think it's a providence!"

"And it won't worry you, grandmother, will it?"

"I hope not. If she's agreeable, she may do us good; and if she'sdisagreeable, we may do her good."

"That's grandma all over!" exclaimed Charity; "but if she'sdisagreeable, I'll tell you what, girls, I'd rather scrub floors.'Tain't my vocation to do ugly folks good."

"Charity," said Mrs. Armadale, "it is your vocation. It is whateverybody is called to do."

"It's what you've been trying to do to me all my life, ain't it?" saidCharity, laughing. "But you've got to keep on, mother; it ain't doneyet. But I declare! there ought to be somebody in a house who can bedisagreeable by spells, or the rest of the world'd grow rampant."

CHAPTER XX
SHAMPUASHUH

It was in vain to try to talk of anything else; the conversation ran onthat one subject all the evening. Indeed, there was a great deal to bethought of and to be done, and it must of necessity be talked of first.

"How soon does she want to come?" Mrs. Armadale asked, meaning ofcourse the new inmate proposed for the house.

"Just as soon as we are ready for her; didn't you hear what I read, grandmother? She wants to get into the country air."

"A queer time to come into the country!" said Charity. "I thought cityfolks kept to the city in winter. But it's good for us."

"We must get in some coal for the parlour," remarked Madge.

"Yes; and who's going to make coal fires and clean the grate and fetchboxes of coal?" said Charity. "I don't mind makin' a wood fire, andkeepin' it up; wood's clean; but coals I do hate."

There was general silence.

"I'll do it," said Lois.

"I guess you will! You look like it."

"Somebody must; and I may as well as anybody."

"You could get Tim Bodson to carry coal for you," remarked Mrs.

Armadale.

"So we could; that's an excellent idea; and I don't mind the rest atall," said Lois. "I like to kindle fires. But maybe she'll want softcoal. I think it is likely. Mrs. Wishart never will burn hard coalwhere she sits. And soft coal is easier to manage."

"It's dirtier, though," said Charity. "I hope she ain't going to be afanciful woman. I can't get along with fancy folks. Then she'll be in afidget about her eating; and I can't stand that. I'll cook for her, butshe must take things as she finds them. I can't have anything to dowith tomfooleries."

"That means custards?" said Lois, laughing. "I like custards myself.

I'll take the tomfoolery part of the business, Charity."

"Will you?" said Charity. "What else?"

"I'll tell you what else, girls. We must have some new tablecloths, andsome napkins."

"And we ought to have our bonnets before anybody comes," added Madge.

"And I must make some covers and mats for the dressing table andwashstand in the best room," said Lois.

"Covers and mats! What for? What ails the things as they are? They'vegot covers."

"O, I mean white covers. They make the room look so much nicer."

"I'll tell you what, Lois; you can't do everything that rich folks do; and it's no use to try. And you may as well begin as you're goin' on.Where are you going to get money for coal and bonnets and tableclothsand napkins and curtains, before we begin to have the board paid in?"

"I have thought of that. Aunt Marx will lend us some. It won't be much, the whole of it."

"I hope we aren't buying a pig in a poke," said Charity.

"Mother, do you think it will worry you to have her?" Lois askedtenderly.

"No, child," said the old lady; "why should it worry me?"

So the thing was settled, and eager preparations immediately set onfoot. Simple preparations, which did not take much time. On her partMrs. Barclay had some to make, but hers were still more quicklydespatched; so that before November had run all its thirty days, shehad all ready for the move. Mr. Dillwyn went with her to the stationand put her into the car. They were early, so he took a seat beside herto bear her company during the minutes of waiting.

"I would gladly have gone with you, to see you safe there," heremarked; "but I thought it not best, for several reasons."

"I should think so!" Mrs. Barclay returned dryly. "Philip, I considerthis the very craziest scheme I ever had to do with!"

"Precisely; your being in it redeems it from that character."

"I do not think so. I am afraid you are preparing trouble for yourself; but your heart cannot be much in it yet!"

"Don't swear that," he said.

"Well, it cannot, surely. Love will grow on scant fare, I acknowledge; but it must have a little."

"It has had a little. But you are hardly to give it that name yet. Say,a fancy."

"Sensible men do not do such things for a fancy. Why, Philip, suppose Iam able to do my part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how Iam even to set about it I have at present no idea; I cannot assume thatthese young women are ignorant, and say I have come to give them aneducation! But suppose I find a way, and suppose I succeed; what then?You will be no nearer your aim – perhaps not so near."

"Perhaps not," he said carelessly.

"Phil, it's a very crazy business! I wouldn't go into it, only I am soselfish, and the plan is so magnificent for me."

"That is enough to recommend it. Now I want you to let me know, fromtime to time, what I can send you that will either tend to yourcomfort, or help the work we have in view. Will you?"

"But where are you going to be? I thought you were going to Europe?"

"Not till spring. I shall be in New York this winter."

"But you will not come to – what is the name of the place – where I amgoing?" she asked earnestly.

"No," said he, smiling. "Shall I send you a piano?"

"A piano! Is music intended to be in the programme? What should I dowith a piano?"

"That you would find out. But you are so fond of music – it would be acomfort, and I have no doubt it would be a help."

Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked alittle sparkle of amusement.

"Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea to play? Or to sing?"

"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate."

"Which is she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am Ito know the person in whom I am to be interested?"

"By the interest."

"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very madscheme, Philip – a very mad scheme! Here you have got me – who ought tobe wiser – into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do notapprove of romance, and not at all of making it."

"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke ofthe bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am.Good-bye! Write me, won't you?"

The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell tomeditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely mistyand doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, northe means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going tobe his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly becauseshe liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of herhusband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such temptingadvantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that ifPhilip could not get her help he was more than likely to find someother which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thoughtthat her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, shewould undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she hadundertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn hadbeen taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained witenough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brainscannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and hermission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, one thing was certain – Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing thatdemands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or getup a fancy for some one else. Time was everything.

So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of herjourney, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing ofthe country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After theSound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields andvillages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing speciallypicturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts thatled her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and thereason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow – "Here's yourplace, ma'am – Shampuashuh."

Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took herbag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun wasalready down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with along platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, greencountry. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their wayhomewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waitingfor the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find somerailway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; awoman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip.

"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have comeafter you."

"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?"

"You are going to the Lothrops' house, ain't you? I thought so. It'sall right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'emI'd come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins wouldn't be here.Is that your trunk? – Mr. Lifton, won't you have the goodness to getthis into my buggy? it's round at the other side. Now, will you come?"

This last to Mrs. Barclay. And, following her new friend, she and herbaggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and theowner of it got into her place and drove off.

The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes whichimpress one immediately with this feature in their character. A widegrassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice oftracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and eleganceto the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on bothsides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool freshair, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness – stillness thattold of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for theplace involuntarily.

"They're lookin' for you," the driving lady began.

"Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day."

"They'll do all they can to make you comfortable; and if there'sanything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything thatcan be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and thegirls never took in a lodger before. But they'll do what they can."

"I hope I shall not be very exacting."

"Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to know it. That is! – we don'thave much of the high-flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castletown, and I'm quite willin' they should; but in summer we have quite asprinklin' of people that want country and the sea; and they most of'em stay right along, from the beginning of the season to the end ofit. We don't often have 'em come in November, though."

"I suppose not."

"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "I thinkthey're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have itvery cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we havehere is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and hiseyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there'ssomethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down inFlorida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me Iwouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see thesnow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here weare. Mr. Starks!" – addressing a man who was going along the sideway – "hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down – won't you bear ahand?"

This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting theheavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs toits destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclaydescended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat.

"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in – you'll find somebody, and they'lltake care of you."

Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yardsto the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with aporch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in thedoorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with agrave, sweet, innocent charm, and a manner which surprised the lady.Mrs. Barclay looked, in a sort of fascination.

"We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. "It is Mrs. Barclay, Isuppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I willshow you right up to your room."

"Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who are you?"

"I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about you. Now, here is your room; and here is your trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks. – What can I do for you?Tea will be ready presently."

"You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought I not to pay him for histrouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks.

"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He isvery well off indeed; has a farm of his own, and makes it valuable."

"He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. Is it a generalcharacteristic of Shampuashuh?"

"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, Iwill show you your other room."

Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. Theroom was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies andold-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place waspleasant. But the girl! – O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, haveyou lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I canunderstand it; but what will come of it!

Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged forher sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeousdrawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintzcurtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a huewhich did not clash violently with the hue of the draperies; plain, dark furniture; and a blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed,

"Delightful! O, delightful! Is this my room, did you say? It is quitecharming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?"

"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Loissimply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sistersare afraid you will not like our country way of living."

"Are you the housekeeper?"

"No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again; "I am the gardener andthe out-of-doors woman generally; the man of business of the house."

"That is a rather hard place for a woman to fill, sometimes."

"It is easy here, and where people have so little out-of-door businessas we have."

She arranged the fire and shut the shutters of the windows; Mrs.Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a prettyfigure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quietself-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And theface, – but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It wasnot the fair features; they were fair, but she had seen others asfair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had neverseen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connectionwith shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, which had nothing to do with external position or internalconsciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of achild, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mentalpower. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, thedress and the apron were of a style – well, of no style; the plainestattire of a plain country girl.

"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like tocome out at once, and see the rest of the family?"

"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Loisopened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of thefamily. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair.

"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up.

"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you."

Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyedthe room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, andvarious little tokens of domestic occupation.

"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!"

"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "butthat room has only a grate."

"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the newguest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire."

"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says."

"Miss Lois has been to the great city, then?"

"Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wishart, likes to have her, and Lois was there quite a spell last winter; but I expect that's theend of it. I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life."

"Why should she?"

"Here's where her work is," said the old lady; "and one is best whereone's work is."

"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were aman, I think I should fall in love with her."

"She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Armadale, with a fine smile.

"No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the smile; "but – youknow, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away withthem, when the right person comes."

"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort oftender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay'sthoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, andLois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of hersisters bearing a plate of butter.

"Another beauty!" thought Mrs. Barclay, as Madge was presented to her."Which is which, I wonder?" This was a beauty of quite another sort.Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft under long lashes, awhite brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband inher black hair, while Lois's red-brown masses were soft, and fluffy, and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had thequietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity whichseemed – to Mrs. Barclay's fancy – to set Lois apart from the rest ofyoung women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. OPhilip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have youbrought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to putmy fingers in. These girls! —

But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay feltsome amusement at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, ahandsome old woman. She had never been a handsome young one; bony, angular, strong, not gracious; although the expression of calm sense, and character, and the handwriting of life-work, and the dignity ofmental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worthlooking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had theplainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was notwanting.

The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxioushospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, thebetter, thought Mrs. Barclay. So she began.

"Your village looks to me like a quiet place."

"That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale.

"Especially in winter, I suppose?"

"Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," the old lady went on."They've got a hotel now for strangers, down at the Point – but thatain't the village."

"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois.

"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter daysand nights?"

"Nothing," said Charity.

"Really? Are there no amusements? I never heard of such a place."

"I don't know what you mean by amusements," Mrs. Armadale took up thesubject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amusement there is. Inever wanted no other."

"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All workand no play' – you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous."

"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dullhere. I don't mean that they are very lively; but they are not dull."

"Is there a library here?"

"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, and pass round to each other's houses."

"Then it is not much of a reading community?"

"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good manybooks in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have asmuch as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in needof no more."

"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are theysheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of theworld? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thoughtit looked like a haven of peace, where people could not haveheartbreaks."

"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady saidsolemnly.

The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs.Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk drop.