Back Aa

Queechy

<h1> Chapter XV. </h1> <blockquote> Her sports were such as carried riches of knowledge upon the stream of light.--Sidney. </blockquote> Fleda had not been a year in Paris when her uncle suddenly made up his mind to quit it and go home. Some trouble in money affairs, felt or feared, brought him to this step, which a month before he had no definite purpose of ever taking. There was cloudy weather in the financial world of New York and he wisely judged it best that his own eyes should be on the spot to see to his own interests. Nobody was sorry for this determination. Mrs. Rossitur always liked what her husband liked, but she had at the same time a decided predilection for home. Marion was glad to leave her convent for the gay world, which her parents promised she should immediately enter. And Hugh and Fleda had too lively a spring of happiness within themselves to care where its outgoings should be. So home they came, in good mood, bringing with them all manner of Parisian delights that Paris could part with. Furniture, that at home at least they might forget where they were; dresses, that at home or abroad nobody might forget where they had been; pictures and statuary and engravings and books, to satisfy a taste really strong and well cultivated. And indeed the other items were quite as much for this purpose as for any other. A French cook for Mr. Rossitur, and even Rosaline for his wife, who declared she was worth all the rest of Paris. Hugh cared little for any of these things; he brought home a treasure of books and a flute, to which he was devoted. Fleda cared for them all, even Monsieur Emile and Rosaline, for her uncle's and aunt's sake; but her special joy was a beautiful little King Charles which had been sent her by Mr. Carleton a few weeks before. It came with the kindest of letters, saying that some matters had made it inexpedient for him to pass through Paris on his way home, but that he hoped nevertheless to see her soon. That intimation was the only thing that made Fleda sorry to leave Paris. The little dog was a beauty, allowed to be so not only by his mistress but by every one else; of the true black and tan colours; and Fleda's dearly loved and constant companion. The life she and Hugh led was little changed by the change of place. They went out and came in as they had done in Paris, and took the same quiet but intense happiness in the same quiet occupations and pleasures; only the Tuileries and Champs Elysées had a miserable substitute in the Battery, and no substitute at all anywhere else. And the pleasant drives in the environs of Paris were missed too and had nothing in New York to supply their place. Mrs. Rossitur always said it was impossible to get out of New York by land, and not worth the trouble to do it by water. But then in the house Fleda thought there was a great gain. The dirty Parisian Hotel was well exchanged for the bright, clean, well-appointed house in State street. And if Broadway was disagreeable, and the Park a weariness to the eyes, after the dressed gardens of the French capital, Hugh and Fleda made it up in the delights of the luxuriously furnished library and the dear at-home feeling of having the whole house their own. They were left, those two children, quite as much to themselves as ever. Marion was going into company, and she and her mother were swallowed up in the consequent necessary calls upon their time. Marion never had been anything to Fleda. She was a fine handsome girl, outwardly, but seemed to have more of her father than her mother in her composition, though colder-natured and more wrapped up in self than Mr. Rossitur would be called by anybody that knew him. She had never done anything to draw Fleda towards her, and even Hugh had very little of her attention. They did not miss it. They were everything to each other. Everything,--for now morning and night there was a sort of whirlwind in the house which carried the mother and daughter round and round and permitted no rest; and Mr. Rossitur himself was drawn in. It was worse than it had been in Paris. There, with Marion in her convent, there were often evenings when they did not go abroad nor receive company and spent the time quietly and happily in each other's society. No such evenings now; if by chance there were an unoccupied one Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter were sure to be tired and Mr. Rossitur busy. Hugh and Fleda in those bustling times retreated to the library; Mr. Rossitur would rarely have that invaded; and while the net was so eagerly cast for pleasure among the gay company below, pleasure had often slipped away and hid herself among the things on the library table, and was dancing on every page of Hugh's book and minding each stroke of Fleda's pencil and cocking the spaniel's ears whenever his mistress looked at him. King, the spaniel, lay on a silk cushion on the library table, his nose just touching Fleda's fingers. Fleda's drawing was mere amusement; she and Hugh were not so burthened with studies that they had not always their evenings free, and to tell truth, much more than their evenings. Masters indeed they had; but the heads of the house were busy with the interests of their grown-up child, and perhaps with other interests; and took it for granted that all was going right with the young ones. "Haven't we a great deal better time than they have down stairs, Fleda?" said Hugh one of these evenings. "Hum--yes--" answered Fleda abstractedly, stroking into order some old man in her drawing with great intentness.--"King!--you rascal--keep back and be quiet, sir!--" Nothing could be conceived more gentle and loving than Fleda's tone of fault-finding, and her repulse only fell short of a caress. "What's he doing?" "Wants to get into my lap." "Why don't you let him?" "Because I don't choose to--a silk cushion is good enough for his majesty. King!--" (laying her soft cheek against the little dog's soft head and forsaking her drawing for the purpose.) "How you do love that dog!" said Hugh. "Very well--why shouldn't I?--provided he steals no love from anybody else," said Fleda, still caressing him. "What a noise somebody is making down stairs!" said Hugh. "I don't think I should ever want to go to large parties, Fleda, do you?" "I don't know," said Fleda, whose natural taste for society was strongly developed;--"it would depend upon what kind of parties they were." "I shouldn't like them, I know, of whatever kind," said Hugh. "What are you smiling at?" "Only Mr. Pickwick's face, that I am drawing here." Hugh came round to look and laugh, and then began again. "I can't think of anything pleasanter than this room as we are now." "You should have seen Mr. Carleton's library," said Fleda in a musing tone, going on with her drawing. "Was it so much better than this?" Fleda's eyes gave a slight glance at the room and then looked down again with a little shake of her head sufficiently expressive. "Well," said Hugh, "you and I do not want any better than this, do we, Fleda?" Fleda's smile, a most satisfactory one, was divided between him and King. "I don't believe," said Hugh, "you would have loved that dog near so well if anybody else had given him to you." "I don't believe I should!--not a quarter," said Fleda with sufficient distinctness. "I never liked that Mr. Carleton as well as you did." "That is because you did not know him," said Fleda quietly. "Do you think he was a good man, Fleda?" "He was very good to me," said Fleda, "always. What rides I did have on that great black horse of his!"-- "A black horse?" "Yes, a great black horse, strong, but so gentle, and he went so delightfully. His name was Harold. Oh I should like to see that horse!--When I wasn't with him, Mr. Carleton used to ride another, the greatest beauty of a horse, Hugh; a brown Arabian--so slender and delicate--her name was Zephyr, ind she used to go like the wind, to be sure. Mr. Carleton said he wouldn't trust me on such a fly-away thing." "But you didn't use to ride alone?" said Hugh. "Oh no!--and I wouldn't have been afraid if he had chosen to take me on any one." "But do you think, Fleda, he was a good man? as I mean?" "I am sure he was better than a great many others," answered Fleda evasively;--"the worst of him was infinitely better than the best of half the people down stairs,--Mr. Sweden included." "Sweden"--you don't call his name right." "The worse it is called the better, in my opinion," said Fleda. "Well, I don't like him; but what makes you dislike him so much?" "I don't know--partly because uncle Rolf and Marion like him so much, I believe--I don't think there is any moral expression in his face." "I wonder why they like him," said Hugh. It was a somewhat irregular and desultory education that the two children gathered under this system of things. The masters they had were rather for accomplishments and languages than for anything solid; the rest they worked out for themselves. Fortunately they both loved books, and rational books; and hours and hours, when Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter were paying or receiving visits, they, always together, were stowed away behind the book-cases or in the library window poring patiently over pages of various complexion; the soft turning of the leaves or Fleda's frequent attentions to King the only sound in the room. They walked together, talking of what they had read, though indeed they ranged beyond that into nameless and numberless fields of speculation, where if they sometimes found fruit they as often lost their way. However the habit of ranging was something. Then when they joined the rest of the family at the dinner-table, especially if others were present, and most especially if a certain German gentleman happened to be there who the second winter after their return Fleda thought came very often, she and Hugh would be sure to find the strange talk of the world that was going on unsuited and wearisome to them, and they would make their escape up stairs again to handle the pencil and to play the flute and to read, and to draw plans for the future, while King crept upon the skirts of his mistress's gown and laid his little head on her feet. Nobody ever thought of sending them to school. Hugh was a child of frail health, and though not often very ill was often near it; and as for Fleda, she and Hugh were inseparable; and besides by this time her uncle and aunt would almost as soon have thought of taking the mats off their delicate shrubs in winter as of exposing her to any atmosphere less genial than that of home. For Fleda this doubtful course of mental training wrought singularly well. An uncommonly quick eye and strong memory and clear head, which she had even in childhood, passed over no field of truth or fancy without making their quiet gleanings; and the stores thus gathered, though somewhat miscellaneous and unarranged, were both rich and uncommon, and more than any one or she herself knew. Perhaps such a mind thus left to itself knew a more free and luxuriant growth than could ever have flourished within the confinement of rules. Perhaps a plant at once so strong and so delicate was safest without the hand of the dresser. At all events it was permitted to spring and to put forth all its native gracefulness alike unhindered and unknown. Cherished as little Fleda dearly was, her mind kept company with no one but herself,--and Hugh. As to externals,--music was uncommonly loved by both the children, and by both cultivated with great success. So much came under Mrs. Rossitur's knowledge. Also every foreign Signor and Madame that came into the house to teach them spoke with enthusiasm of the apt minds and flexile tongues that honoured their instructions. In private and in public the gentle, docile, and affectionate children answered every wish both of taste and judgment. And perhaps, in a world where education is not understood, their guardians might be pardoned for taking it for granted that all was right where nothing appeared that was wrong; certainly they took no pains to make sure of the fact. In this case, one of a thousand, their neglect was not punished with disappointment. They never found out that Hugh's mind wanted the strengthening that early skilful training might have given it. His intellectual tastes were not so strong as Fleda's; his reading was more superficial; his gleanings not so sound and in far fewer fields, and they went rather to nourish sentiment and fancy than to stimulate thought or lay up food for it. But his parents saw nothing of this. The third winter had not passed, when Fleda's discernment saw that Mr. Sweden, as she called him, the German gentleman, would not cease coming to the house till he had carried off Marion with him. Her opinion on the subject was delivered to no one but Hugh. That winter introduced them to a better acquaintance. One evening Dr. Gregory, an uncle of Mrs. Rossitur's, had been dining with her and was in the drawing-room. Mr. Schweden had been there too, and he and Marion and one or two other young people had gone out to some popular entertainment. The children knew little of Dr. Gregory but that he was a very respectable-looking elderly gentleman, a little rough in his manners; the doctor had not long been returned from a stay of some years in Europe where he had been collecting rare books for a fine public library, the charge of which was now entrusted to him. After talking some time with Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur the doctor pushed round his chair to take a look at the children. "So that's Amy's child," said he. "Come here, Amy." "That is not my name," said the little girl coming forward. "Isn't it? It ought to be. What is then?" "Elfleda." "Elfleda!--Where in the name of all that is auricular did you get such an outlandish name?" "My father gave it to me, sir," said Fleda, with a dignified sobriety which amused the old gentleman. "Your father!--Hum--I understand. And couldn't your father find a cap that fitted you without going back to the old-fashioned days of King Alfred?" "Yes sir; it was my grandmother's cap." "I am afraid your grandmother's cap isn't all of her that's come down to you," said he, tapping his snuff-box and looking at her with a curious twinkle in his eyes. "What do you call yourself? Haven't you some variations of this tongue-twisting appellative to serve for every day and save trouble?" "They call me Fleda," said the little girl, who could not help laughing. "Nothing better than that?" Fleda remembered two prettier nick-names which had been hers; but one had been given by dear lips long ago, and she was not going to have it profaned by common use; and "Elfie" belonged to Mr. Carleton. She would own to nothing but Fleda. "Well, Miss Fleda," said the doctor, "are you going to school?" "No sir." "You intend to live without such a vulgar thing as learning?" "No sir--Hugh and I have our lessons at home." "Teaching each other, I suppose?" "O no, sir," said Fleda laughing;--"Mme. Lascelles and Mr. Schweppenhesser and Signor Barytone come to teach us, besides our music masters." "Do you ever talk German with this Mr. What's-his-name who has just gone out with your cousin Marion?" "I never talk to him at all, sir." "Don't you? why not? Don't you like him?" Fleda said "not particularly," and seemed to wish to let the subject pass, but the doctor was amused and pressed it. "Why, why don't you like him?" said he; "I am sure he's a fine looking dashing gentleman,--dresses as well as anybody, and talks as much as most people,--why don't you like him? Isn't he a handsome fellow, eh?" "I dare say he is, to many people," said Fleda. "She said she didn't think there was any moral expression in his face," said Hugh, by way of settling the matter. "Moral expression!" cried the doctor,--"moral expression!--and what if there isn't, you Elf!--what if there isn't?" "I shouldn't care what other kind of expression it had," said Fleda, colouring a little. Mr. Rossitur 'pished' rather impatiently. The doctor glanced at his niece, and changed the subject. "Well who teaches you English, Miss Fleda? you haven't told me that yet." "O that we teach ourselves," said Fleda, smiling as if it was a very innocent question. "Hum! you do! Pray how do you teach yourselves?" "By reading, sir." "Reading! And what do you read? what have you read in the last twelve months, now?" "I don't think I could remember all exactly," said Fleda. "But you have got a list of them all," said Hugh, who chanced to have been looking over said list of a day or two before and felt quite proud of it. "Let's have it--let's have it," said the doctor. And Mrs. Rossitur laughing said "Let's have it;" and even her husband commanded Hugh to go and fetch it; so poor Fleda, though not a little unwilling, was obliged to let the list be forthcoming. Hugh brought it, in a neat little book covered with pink blotting paper. "Now for it," said the doctor;--"let us see what this English amounts to. Can you stand fire, Elfleda?" 'Jan. 1. Robinson Crusoe.' [Footnote: A true list made by a child of that age.] "Hum--that sounds reasonable, at all events." "I had it for a New Year present," remarked Fleda, who stood by with down-cast eyes, like a person undergoing an examination. 'Jan. 2. Histoire de France.' "What history of France is this?" Fleda hesitated and then said it was by Lacretelle. "Lacretelle?--what, of the Revolution?" "No sir, it is before that; it is in five or six large volumes." "What, Louis XV's time!" said the doctor muttering to himself. 'Jan. 27. 2. ditto, ditto.' "'Two' means the second volume I suppose?" "Yes sir." "Hum--if you were a mouse you would gnaw through the wall in time at that rate. This is in the original?" "Yes sir." 'Feb. 3. Paris. L. E. K.' "What do these hieroglyphics mean?" "That stands for the 'Library of Entertaining Knowledge,'" said Fleda. "But how is this?--do you go hop, skip, and jump through these books, or read a little and then throw them away? Here it is only seven days since you began the second volume of Lacretelle--not time enough to get through it." "O no, sir," said Fleda smiling,--"I like to have several books that I am reading in at once,--I mean--at the same time, you know; and then if I am not in the mood of one I take up another." "She reads them all through," said Hugh,--"always, though she reads them very quick." "Hum--I understand," said the old doctor with a humorous expression, going on with the list. 'March 3. 3 Hist. de France.' "But you finish one of these volumes, I suppose, before you begin another; or do you dip into different parts of the same work at once?" "O no, sir;--of course not!" 'Mar. 5. Modern Egyptians. L. E. K. Ap. 13.' "What are these dates on the right as well as on the left?" "Those on the right shew when I finished the volume." "Well I wonder what you were cut out for?" said the doctor. "A Quaker!--you aren't a Quaker, are you?" "No sir," said Fleda laughing. "You look like it," said he. 'Feb. 24. Five Penny Magazines, finished Mar. 4,' "They are in paper numbers, you know, sir." 'April 4. 4 Hist. de F.' "Let us see--the third volume was finished March 29--I declare you keep it up pretty well." 'Ap. 19. Incidents of Travel' "Whose is that?" "It is by Mr. Stephens." "How did you like it?" "O very much indeed." "Ay, I see you did; you finished it by the first of May. 'Tour to the Hebrides'--what? Johnson's?" "Yes sir." "Read it all fairly through?" "Yes sir, certainly." He smiled and went on. 'May 12. Peter Simple!' There was quite a shout at the heterogeneous character of Fleda's reading, which she, not knowing exactly what to make of it, heard rather abashed. "' Peter Simple'!" said the doctor, settling himself to go on with his list;--"well, let us see.--' World without Souls.' Why you Elf! read in two days." "It is very short, you know, sir." "What did you think of it?" "I liked parts of it very much." He went on, still smiling. 'June 15. Goldsmith's Animated Nature.' 'June 18. 1 Life of Washington.' "What Life of Washington?" "Marshall's." "Hum.--'July 9. 2 Goldsmith's An. Na.' As I live, begun the very day the first volume was finished, did you read the whole of that?" "O yes, sir. I liked that book very much." '4 July 12. 5 Hist, de France.' "Two histories on hand at once! Out of all rule, Miss Fleda! We must look after you." "Yes sir; sometimes I wanted to read one, and sometimes I wanted to read the other." "And you always do what you want to do, I suppose?" "I think the reading does me more good in that way." 'July 15. Paley's Natural Theology!' There was another shout. Poor Fleda's eyes filled with tears. "What in the world put that book into your head, or before your eyes?" said the doctor. "I don't know, sir,--I thought I should like to read it," said Fleda, drooping her eyelids that the bright drops under them might not be seen. "And finished in eleven days, as I live!" said the doctor wagging his head. 'July 19. 3 Goldsmith's A. N.' 'Aug. 6. 4 Do. Do.'" "That is one of Fleda's favourite books," put in Hugh. "So it seems. '6 Hist. de France.'--What does this little cross mean?" "That shews when the book is finished," said Fleda, looking on the page,--"the last volume, I mean." "'Retrospect of Western Travel'--'Goldsmith's A. N., last vol.'--'Memoirs de Sully'--in the French?" "Yes sir." "'Life of Newton'--What's this?--'Sep. 8. 1 Fairy Queen!'--not Spenser's?" "Yes sir, I believe so--the Fairy Queen, in five volumes." The doctor looked up comically at his niece and her husband, who were both sitting or standing close by. "'Sep. 10. Paolo e Virginia.'--In what language?" "Italian, sir; I was just beginning, and I haven't finished it yet." "'Sep. 16. Milner's Church History'!--What the deuce!--'Vol. 2. Fairy Queen.'--Why this must have been a favourite book too." "That's one of the books Fleda loves best," said Hugh;--"she went through that very fast." "Over it, you mean, I reckon; how much did you skip, Fleda?" "I didn't skip at all," said Fleda; "I read every word of it." "'Sep. 20. 2 Mem. de Sully.'--Well, you're an industrious mouse, I'll say that for you.--What's this--'Don Quixotte!'--'Life of Howard.'--'Nov. 17. 3 Fairy Queen.'--'Nov. 29. 4 Fairy Queen.'--'Dec. 8. 1 Goldsmith's England.'--Well if this list of books is a fair exhibit of your taste and capacity, you have a most happily proportioned set of intellectuals. Let us see--History, fun, facts, nature, theology, poetry and divinity!--upon my soul!--and poetry and history the leading features!--a little fun,--as much as you could lay your hand on I'll warrant, by that pinch in the corner of your eye. And here, the eleventh of December, you finished the Fairy Queen;--and ever since, I suppose, you have been imagining yourself the 'faire Una,' with Hugh standing for Prince Arthur or the Red-cross knight,--haven't you?" "No sir. I didn't imagine anything about it." "Don't tell me! What did you read it for?" "Only because I liked it, sir. I liked it better than any other book I read last year." "You did! Well, the year ends, I see, with another volume of Sully. I won't enter upon this year's list. Pray how much of all these volumes do you suppose you remember? I'll try and find out, next time I come to see you. I can give a guess, if you study with that little pug in your lap." "He is not a pug!" said Fleda, in whose arms King was lying luxuriously,--"and he never gets into my lap besides." <ANTIMG src="images/illus10.jpg" height-obs="250" alt="'He is not a pug.'" title="'He is not a pug.'" /> "He is not a pug." "Don't he! Why not?" "Because I don't like it, sir. I don't like to see dogs in laps." "But all the ladies in the land do it, you little Saxon! it is universally considered a mark of distinction." "I can't help what all the ladies in the land do," said Fleda. "That won't alter my liking, and I don't think a lady's lap is a place for a dog." "I wish you were my daughter!" said the old doctor, shaking his head at her with a comic fierce expression of countenance, which Fleda perfectly understood and laughed at accordingly. Then as the two children with the dog went off into the other room, he said, turning to his niece and Mr. Rossitur, "If that girl ever takes a wrong turn with the bit in her teeth, you'll be puzzled to hold her. What stuff will you make the reins of?" "I don't think she ever will take a wrong turn," said Mr. Rossitur. "A look is enough to manage her, if she did," said his wife. "Hugh is not more gentle." "I should be inclined rather to fear her not having stability of character enough," said Mr. Rossitur. "She is so very meek and yielding, I almost doubt whether anything would give her courage to take ground of her own and keep it." "Hum------well, well!" said the old doctor, walking off after the children. "Prince Arthur, will you bring this damsel up to my den some of these days?--the 'faire Una' is safe from the wild beasts, you know;--and I'll shew her books enough to build herself a house with, if she likes." The acceptance of this invitation led to some of the pleasantest hours of Fleda's city life. The visits to the great library became very frequent. Dr. Gregory and the children were little while in growing fond of each other; he loved to see them and taught them to come at such times as the library was free of visitors and his hands of engagements. Then he delighted himself with giving them pleasure, especially Fleda, whose quick curiosity and intelligence were a constant amusement to him. He would establish the children in some corner of the large apartments, out of the way behind a screen of books and tables; and there shut out from the world they would enjoy a kind of fairyland pleasure over some volume or set of engravings that they could not see at home. Hours and hours were spent so. Fleda would stand clasping her hands before Audubon, or rapt over a finely illustrated book of travels, or going through and through with Hugh the works of the best masters of the pencil and the graver. The doctor found he could trust them, and then all the treasures of the library were at their disposal. Very often he put chosen pieces of reading into their hands; and it was pleasantest of all when he was not busy and came and sat down with them; for with all his odd manner he was extremely kind and could and did put them in the way to profit greatly by their opportunities. The doctor and the children had nice times there together. They lasted for many months, and grew more and more worth. Mr. Schweden carried off Marion, as Fleda had foreseen he would, before the end of spring; and after she was gone something like the old pleasant Paris life was taken up again. They had no more company now than was agreeable, and it was picked not to suit Marion's taste but her father's,--a very different matter. Fleda and Hugh were not forbidden the dinner-table, and so had the good of hearing much useful conversation from which the former, according to custom, made her steady precious gleanings. The pleasant evenings in the family were still better enjoyed than they used to he; Fleda was older; and the snug handsome American house had a home-feeling to her that the wide Parisian saloons never knew. She had become bound to her uncle and aunt by all but the ties of blood; nobody in the house ever remembered that she was not born their daughter; except indeed Fleda herself, who remembered everything, and with whom the forming of any new affections or relations somehow never blotted out or even faded the register of the old. It lived in all its brightness; the writing of past loves and friendships was as plain as ever in her heart; and often, often, the eye and the kiss of memory fell upon it. In the secret of her heart's core; for still, as at the first, no one had a suspicion of the movings of thought that were beneath that childish brow. No one guessed how clear a judgment weighed and decided upon many things. No one dreamed, amid their busy, hustling, thoughtless life, how often, in the street, in her bed, in company and alone, her mother's last prayer was in Fleda's heart; well cherished; never forgotten. Her education and Hugh's meanwhile went on after the old fashion. If Mr. Rossitur had more time he seemed to have no more thought for the matter; and Mrs. Rossitur, fine-natured as she was, had never been trained to self-exertion, and of course was entirely out of the way of training others. Her children were pieces of perfection, and needed no oversight; her house was a piece of perfection too. If either had not been, Mrs. Rossitur would have been utterly at a loss how to mend matters,--except in the latter instance by getting a new housekeeper; and as Mrs. Renney, the good woman who held that station, was in everybody's opinion another treasure, Mrs. Rossitur's mind was uncrossed by the shadow of such a dilemma. With Mrs. Renney as with every one else Fleda was held in highest regard; always welcome to her premises and to those mysteries of her trade which were sacred from other intrusion. Fleda's natural inquisitiveness carried her often to the housekeeper's room, and made her there the same curious and careful observer that she had been in the library or at the Louvre. "Come," said Hugh one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs. Renney's precincts,--"come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?" "My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda,--"you don't understand quelquechoses. How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day." "By making what?" said Hugh. "Quelquechoses,--anglicé, kickshaws,--alias, sweet trifles denominated merrings." "Pshaw, Fleda!" "Miss Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh, isn't she?" said the housekeeper. "I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda laughingly as she followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth sufficiently near. Those years in New York were a happy time for little Fleda, a time when mind and body flourished under the sun of prosperity. Luxury did not spoil her; and any one that saw her in the soft furs of her winter wrappings would have said that delicate cheek and frame were never made to know the unkindliness of harsher things. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.