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Queechy

<h1> Chapter XXI. </h1> <blockquote> Wise men alway Affyrme and say, That best is for a man Diligently, For to apply, The business that he can. </blockquote> <blockquote> More. </blockquote> Fleda waited for Barby's coming the next day with a little anxiety. The introduction and installation however were happily got over. Mrs. Rossitur, as Fleda knew, was most easily pleased; and Barby Elster's quick eye was satisfied with the unaffected and universal gentleness and politeness of her new employer. She made herself at home in half an hour; and Mrs. Rossitur and Fleda were comforted to perceive, by unmistakeable signs, that their presence was not needed in the kitchen and they might retire to their own premises and forget there was another part of the house. Fleda had forgotten it utterly, and deliciously enjoying the rest of mind and body she was stretched upon the sofa, luxuriating over some volume from her remnant of a library; when the inner door was suddenly pushed open far enough to admit the entrance of Miss Elster's head. "Where's the soft soap?" Fleda's book went down and her heart jumped to her mouth, for her uncle was sitting over by the window. Mrs. Rossitur looked up in a maze and waited for the question to be repeated. "I say, where's the soft soap?" "Soft soap!" said Mrs. Rossitur,--"I don't know whether there is any.--Fleda, do you know?" "I was trying to think, aunt Lucy. I don't believe there is any." "Where is it?" said Barby. "There is none, I believe," said Mrs. Rossitur. "Where was it, then?" "Nowhere--there has not been any in the house," said Fleda, raising herself up to see over the back of her sofa. "There ha'n't been none!" said Miss Elster, in a tone more significant than her words, and shutting the door as abruptly as she had opened it. "What upon earth does the woman mean?" exclaimed Mr. Rossitur, springing up and advancing towards the kitchen door. Fleda threw herself before him. "Nothing at all, uncle Rolf--she doesn't mean anything at all--she doesn't know any better." "I will improve her knowledge--get out the way, Fleda." "But uncle Rolf, just hear me one moment--please don't!--she didn't mean any harm--these people don't know any manners--just let me speak to her, please uncle Rolf!--" said Fleda laying both hands upon her uncle's arms,--"I'll manage her." Mr. Rossitur's wrath was high, and he would have run over or knocked down anything less gentle that had stood in his way; but even the harshness of strength shuns to set itself in array against the meekness that does not oppose; if the touch of those hands had been a whit less light, or the glance of her eye less submissively appealing, it would have availed nothing. As it was, he stopped and looked at her, at first scowling, but then with a smile. "You manage her!" said he. "Yes," said Fleda laughing, and now exerting her force she gently pushed him back towards the seat he had quitted,--"yes. uncle Rolf--you've enough else to manage--don't undertake our 'help.' Deliver over all your displeasure upon me when anything goes wrong--I will be the conductor to carry it off safely into the kitchen and discharge it just at that point where I think it will do most execution. Now will you, uncle Rolf?--Because we have got a new-fashioned piece of firearms in the other room that I am afraid will go off unexpectedly if it is meddled with by an unskilful hand;--and that would leave us without arms, you see, or with only aunt Lucy's and mine, which are not reliable." "You saucy girl!"--said her uncle, who was laughing partly at and partly with her,--"I don't know what you deserve exactly.--Well--keep this precious new operative of yours out of my way and I'll take care to keep out of hers. But mind, you must manage not to have your piece snapping in my face in this fashion, for I won't stand it." And so, quieted, Mr. Rossitur sat down to his book again; and Fleda leaving hers open went to attend upon Barby. "There ain't much yallow soap neither," said this personage,--"if this is all. There's one thing--if we ha'n't got it we can make it. I must get Mis' Rossitur to have a leach-tub sot up right away. I'm a dreadful hand for havin' plenty o' soap." "What is a leach-tub?" said Fleda. "Why, a leach-tub, for to leach ashes in. That's easy enough. I'll fix it, afore we're any on us much older. If Mr. Rossitur'll keep me in good hard wood I sha'n't cost him hardly anything for potash." "I'll see about it," said Fleda, "and I will see about having the leach-tub, or whatever it is, put up for you. And Barby, whenever you want anything, will you just speak to me about it?--and if I am in the other room ask me to come out here. Because my aunt is not strong, and does not know where things are as well as I do; and when my uncle is in there he sometimes does not like to be disturbed with hearing any such talk. If you'll tell me I'll see and have everything done for you." "Well--you get me a leach sot up--that's all I'll ask of you just now," said Barby good-humouredly; "and help me to find the soap-grease, if there is any. As to the rest, I don't want to see nothin' o' him in the kitchen so I'll relieve him if he don't want to see much o' me in the parlour.--I shouldn't wonder if there wa'n't a speck of it in the house." Not a speck was there to be found. "Your uncle's pockets must ha' had a good hole in 'em by this time," remarked Barby as they came back from the cellar. "However, there never was a crock so empty it couldn't be filled. You get me a leach-tub sot up, and I'll find work for it." From that time Fleda had no more trouble with her uncle and Barby. Each seemed to have a wholesome appreciation of the other's combative qualities and to shun them. With Mrs. Rossitur Barby was soon all-powerful. It was enough that she wanted a thing, if Mrs Rossitur's own resources could compass it. For Fleda, to say that Barby had presently a perfect understanding with her and joined to that a most affectionate careful regard, is not perhaps saying much; for it was true of every one without exception with whom Fleda had much to do. Barby was to all of them a very great comfort and stand-by. It was well for them that they had her within doors to keep things, as she called it, "right and tight;" for abroad the only system in vogue was one of fluctuation and uncertainty. Mr. Rossitur's Irishman, Donohan, staid his year out, doing as little good and as much at least negative harm as he well could; and then went, leaving them a good deal poorer than he found them. Dr. Gregory's generosity had added to Mr. Rossitur's own small stock of ready money, giving him the means to make some needed outlays on the farm. But the outlay, ill-applied, had been greater than the income; a scarcity of money began to be more and more felt; and the comfort of the family accordingly drew within more and more narrow bounds. The temper of the head of the family suffered in at least equal degree. From the first of Barby's coming poor Fleda had done her utmost to prevent the want of Mons. Emile from being felt. Mr. Rossitur's table was always set by her careful hand, and all the delicacies that came upon it were, unknown to him, of her providing. Even the bread. One day at breakfast Mr. Rossitur had expressed his impatient displeasure at that of Miss Elster's manufacture. Fleda saw the distressed shade that came over her aunt's face, and took her resolution. It was the last time. She had followed her plan of sending for the receipts, and she studied them diligently, both at home and under aunt Miriam. Natural quickness of eye and hand came in aid of her affectionate zeal, and it was not long before she could trust herself to undertake any operation in the whole range of her cookery book. But meanwhile materials were growing scarce and hard to come by. The delicate French rolls which were now always ready for her uncle's plate in the morning had sometimes nothing to back them, unless the unfailing water cress from the good little spring in the meadow. Fleda could not spare her eggs, for perhaps they might have nothing else to depend upon for dinner. It was no burden to her to do these things; she had a sufficient reward in seeing that her aunt and Hugh eat the better and that her uncle's brow was clear; but it was a burden when her hands were tied by the lack of means; for she knew the failure of the usual supply was bitterly felt, not for the actual want, but for that other want which it implied and prefigured. On the first dismissal of Donohan Fleda hoped for a good turn of affairs. But Mr. Rossitur, disgusted with his first experiment, resolved this season to be his own head man; and appointed Lucas Springer the second in command, with a posse of labourers to execute his decrees. It did not work well. Mr. Rossitur found he had a very tough prime minister, who would have every one of his plans to go through a kind of winnowing process by being tossed about in an argument. The arguments were interminable, until Mr. Rossitur not unfrequently quit the field with, "Well, do what you like about it!"--not conquered, but wearied. The labourers, either from want of ready money or of what they called "manners" in their employer, fell off at the wrong times, just when they were most wanted. Hugh threw himself then into the breach and wrought beyond his strength; and that tried Fleda worst of all. She was glad to see haying and harvest pass over; but the change of seasons seemed to bring only a change of disagreeableness, and she could not find that hope had any better breathing-time in the short days of winter than in the long days of summer. Her gentle face grew more gentle than ever, for under the shade of sorrowful patience which was always there now its meekness had no eclipse. Mrs. Rossitur was struck with it one morning. She was coming down from her room and saw Fleda standing on the landing-place gazing out of the window. It was before breakfast one cold morning in winter. Mrs. Rossitur put her arms round her softly and kissed her. "What are you thinking about, dear Fleda?--you ought not to be standing here." "I was looking at Hugh," said Fleda, and her eye went back to the window. Mrs. Rossitur's followed it. The window gave them a view of the ground behind the house; and there was Hugh, just coming in with a large armful of heavy wood which he had been sawing. "He isn't strong enough to do that, aunt Lucy," said Fleda softly. "I know it," said his mother in a subdued tone, and not moving her eye, though Hugh had disappeared. "It is too cold for him--he is too thinly clad to bear this exposure," said Fleda anxiously. "I know it," said his mother again. "Can't you tell uncle Rolf?--can't you get him to do it? I am afraid Hugh will hurt himself, aunt Lucy." "I did tell him the other day--I did speak to him about it," said Mrs. Rossitur; "but he said there was no reason why Hugh should do it,--there were plenty of other people--" "But how can he say so when he knows we never can ask Lucas to do anything of the kind, and that other man always contrives to be out of the way when he is wanted?--Oh what is he thinking of?" said Fleda bitterly, as she saw Hugh again at his work. It was so rarely that Fleda was seen to shed tears that they always were a signal of dismay to any of the household. There was even agony in Mrs. Rossitur's voice as she implored her not to give way to them. But notwithstanding that, Fleda's tears came this time from too deep a spring to be stopped at once. "It makes me feel as if all was lost, Fleda, when I see you do so,"-- Fleda put her arms about her neck and whispered that "she would not"--that "she should not"-- Yet it was a little while before she could say any more. "But, aunt Lucy, he doesn't know what he is doing!" "No--and I can't make him know. I cannot say anything more, Fleda--it would do no good. I don't know what is the matter--he is entirely changed from what he used to be--" "I know what is the matter," said Fleda, now turning comforter in her turn as her aunt's tears fell more quietly, because more despairingly, than her own,--"I know what it is--he is not happy;--that is all. He has not succeeded well in these farm doings, and he wants money, and he is worried--it is no wonder if he don't seem exactly as he used to." "And oh, that troubles me most of all!" said Mrs. Rossitur. "The farm is bringing in nothing, I know,--he don't know how to get along with it,--I was afraid it would be so;--and we are paying nothing to uncle Orrin--and it is just a dead weight on his hands;--and I can't bear to think of it!--And what will it come to!--" Mrs. Rossitur was now in her turn surprised into shewing the strength of her sorrows and apprehensions. Fleda was fain to put her own out of sight and bend her utmost powers to soothe and compose her aunt, till they could both go down to the breakfast table. She had got ready a nice little dish that her uncle was very fond of; but her pleasure in it was all gone; and indeed it seemed to be thrown away upon the whole table. Half the meal was over before anybody said a word. "I am going to wash my hands of these miserable farm affairs," said Mr. Rossitur. "Are you?" said his wife. "Yes,--of all personal concern in them, that is. I am wearied to death with the perpetual annoyances and vexations, and petty calls upon my time--life is not worth having at such a rate! I'll have done with it." "You will give up the entire charge to Lucas?" said Mrs. Rossitur. <ANTIMG src="images/illus13.jpg" height-obs="250" alt="'O uncle Rolf, don't have anything to do with him.'" title="'O uncle Rolf, don't have anything to do with him.'" /> "O uncle Rolf, don't have anything to do with him." "Lucas!--No!--I wouldn't undergo that man's tongue for another year if he would take out his wages in talking. I could not have more of it in that case than I have had the last six months. After money, the thing that man loves best is certainly the sound of his own voice; and a most insufferable egotist! No,--I have been talking with a man who wants to take the whole farm for two years upon shares--that will clear me of all trouble." There was sober silence for a few minutes, and then Mrs. Rossitur asked who it was. "His name is Didenhover." "O uncle Rolf, don't have anything to do with him!" exclaimed Fleda. "Why not?" "Because he lived with grandpa a great while ago, and behaved very ill. Grandpa had a great deal of trouble with him." "How old were you then?" "I was young, to be sure," said Fleda hanging her head, "but I remember very well how it was." "You may have occasion to remember it a second time," said Mr. Rossitur dryly, "for the thing is done. I have engaged him." Not another word was spoken. Mr. Rossitur went out after breakfast, and Mrs. Rossitur busied herself with the breakfast cups and a tub of hot water, a work she never would let Fleda share with her and which lasted in consequence long enough, Barby said, to cook and eat three breakfasts. Fleda and Hugh sat looking at the floor and the fire respectively. "I am going up the hill to get a sight of aunt Miriam," said Fleda, bringing her eyes from the fire upon her aunt. "Well, dear, do. You have been shut up long enough by the snow. Wrap yourself up well, and put on my snow-boots." "No indeed!" said Fleda. "I shall just draw on another pair of stockings over my shoes, within my India-rubbers--I will take a pair of Hugh's woollen ones." "What has become of your own?" said Hugh. "My own what? Stockings?" "Snow-boots." "Worn out, Mr. Rossitur! I have run them to death, poor things. Is that a slight intimation that you are afraid of the same fate for your socks?" "No," said Hugh, smiling in spite of himself at her manner,--"I will lend you anything I have got, Fleda." His tone put Fleda in mind of the very doubtful pretensions of the socks in question to be comprehended under the term; she was silent a minute. "Will you go with me, Hugh?" "No dear, I can't;--I must get a little ahead with the wood while I can; it looks as if it would snow again; and Barby isn't provided for more than a day or two." "And how for this fire?" Hugh shook his head, and rose up to go forth into the kitchen. Fleda went too, linking her arm in his and bearing affectionately upon it, a sort of tacit saying that they would sink or swim together. Hugh understood it perfectly. "I am very sorry you have to do it, dear Hugh--Oh that wood-shed!--If it had only been made!--" "Never mind--can't help it now--we shall get through the winter by and by." "Can't you get uncle Rolf to help you a little?" whispered Fleda;--"It would do him good." But Hugh only shook his head. "What are we going to do for dinner, Barby?" said Fleda, still holding Hugh there before the fire. "Ain't much choice," said Barby. "It would puzzle anybody to spell much more out of it than pork and ham. There's plenty o' them. I shan't starve this some time." "But we had ham yesterday and pork the day before yesterday and ham Monday," said Fleda. "There is plenty of vegetables, thanks to you and me, Hugh," she said with a little reminding squeeze of his arm. "I could make soups nicely, if I had anything to make them of!" "There's enough to be had for the catching," said Barby. "If I hadn't a man-mountain of work upon me, I'd start out and shoot or steal something." "You shoot, Barby!" said Fleda laughing. "I guess I can do most anything I set my hand to. If I couldn't I'd shoot myself. It won't do to kill no more o' them chickens." "O no,--now they are laying so finely. Well, I am going up the hill, and when I come home I'll try and make up something, Barby." "Earl Douglass'll go out in the woods now and then, of a day when he ha'n't no work particular to do, and fetch hum as many pigeons and woodchucks as you could shake a stick at." "Hugh, my dear," said Fleda laughing, "it's a pity you aren't a hunter--I would shake a stick at you with great pleasure. Well, Barby, we will see when I come home." "I was just a thinkin," said Barby;--"Mis' Douglass sent round to know if Mis' Rossitur would like a piece of fresh meat--Earl's been killing a sheep--there's a nice quarter, she says, if she'd like to have it." "A quarter of mutton?"--said Fleda,--"I don't know--no, I think not, Barby; I don't know when we should be able to pay it back again.--And yet--Hugh, do you think uncle Rolf will kill another sheep this winter?" "I am sure he will not," said Hugh;--"there have so many died." "If he only knowed it, that is a reason for killing more," said Barby,--" and have the good of them while he can." "Tell Mrs. Douglass we are obliged to her, but we do not want the mutton, Barby." Hugh went to his chopping and Fleda set out upon her walk; the lines of her face settling into a most fixed gravity so soon as she turned away from the house. It was what might be called a fine winter's day; cold and still, and the sky covered with one uniform grey cloud. The snow lay in uncompromising whiteness thick over all the world; a kindly shelter for the young grain and covering for the soil; but Fleda's spirits just then in another mood saw in it only the cold refusal to hope and the barren check to exertion. The wind had cleared the snow from the trees and fences, and they stood in all their unsoftened blackness and nakedness, bleak and stern. The high grey sky threatened a fresh fall of snow in a few hours; it was just now a lull between two storms; and Fleda's spirits, that sometimes would have laughed in the face of nature's soberness, to-day sank to its own quiet. Her pace neither slackened nor quickened till she reached aunt Miriam's house and entered the kitchen. Aunt Miriam was in high tide of business over a pot of boiling lard, and the enormous bread-tray by the side of the fire was half full of very tempting light-brown cruller, which however were little more than a kind of sweet bread for the workmen. In the bustle of putting in and taking out aunt Miriam could give her visitor but a word and a look. Fleda pulled off her hood and sitting down watched in unusual silence the old lady's operations. "And how are they all at your house to-day?" aunt Miriam asked as she was carefully draining her cruller out of the kettle. Fleda answered that they were as well as usual, but a slight hesitation and the tell-tale tone of her voice made the old lady look at her more narrowly. She came near and kissed that gentle brow and looking in her eyes asked her what the matter was? "I don't know,--" said Fleda, eyes and voice wavering alike,--"I am foolish, I believe,--" Aunt Miriam tenderly put aside the hair from her forehead and kissed it again, but the cruller was burning and she went back to the kettle. "I got down-hearted somehow this morning," Fleda went on, trying to steady her voice and school herself. "You down-hearted, dear? About what?" There was a world of sympathy in these words, in the warmth of which Fleda's shut-up heart unfolded itself at once. "It's nothing new, aunt Miriam,--only somehow I felt it particularly this morning,--I have been kept in the house so long by this snow I have got dumpish I suppose.--" Aunt Miriam looked anxiously at the tears which seemed to come involuntarily, but she said nothing. "We are not getting along well at home." "I supposed that," said Mrs. Plumfield quietly. "But anything new?" "Yes--uncle Rolf has let the farm--only think of it!--he has let the farm to that Didenhover." "Didenhover!" "For two years." "Did you tell him what you knew about him?" "Yes, but it was too late--the mischief was done." Aunt Miriam went on skimming out her cruller with a very grave face. "How came your uncle to do so without learning about him first?" "O I don't know!--he was in a hurry to do anything that would take the trouble of the farm off his hands,--he don't like it." "On what terms has he let him have it?" "On shares--and I know, I know, under that Didenhover it will bring us in nothing, and it has brought us in nothing all the time we have been here; and I don't know what we are going to live upon."-- "Has your uncle nor your aunt no property at all left?" "Not a bit--except some waste lands in Michigan I believe, that were left to aunt Lucy a year or two ago; but they are as good as nothing." "Has he let Didenhover have the saw-mill too?" "I don't know--he didn't say--if he has there will be nothing at all left for us to live upon. I expect nothing from Didenhover,--his face is enough. I should have thought it might have been for uncle Rolf. O if it wasn't for aunt Lucy and Hugh I shouldn't care!--" "What has your uncle been doing all this year past?" "I don't know, aunt Miriam,--he can't bear the business and he has left the most of it to Lucas; and I think Lucas is more of a talker than a doer. Almost nothing has gone right. The crops have been ill managed--I do not know a great deal about it, but I know enough for that; and uncle Rolf did not know anything about it but what he got from books. And the sheep are dying off--Barby says it is because they were in such poor condition at the beginning of winter, and I dare say she is right." "He ought to have had a thorough good man at the beginning, to get along well." "O yes!--but he hadn't, you see; and so we have just been growing poorer every month. And now, aunt Miriam, I really don't know from day to day what to do to get dinner. You know for a good while after we came we used to have our marketing brought every few days from Albany; but we have run up such a bill there already at the butcher's as I don't know when in the world will get paid; and aunt Lucy and I will do anything before we will send for any more; and if it wasn't for her and Hugh I wouldn't care, but they haven't much appetite, and I know that all this takes what little they have away--this, and seeing the effect it has upon uncle Rolf----" "Does he think so much more of eating than of anything else?" said aunt Miriam. "Oh no, it is not that!" said Fleda earnestly,--"it is not that at all--he is not a great eater--but he can't bear to have things different from what they used to be and from what they ought to be--O no, don't think that! I don't know whether I ought to have said what I have said, but I couldn't help it--" Fleda's voice was lost for a little while. "He is changed from what he used to be--a little thing vexes him now, and I know it is because he is not happy;--he used to be so kind and pleasant, and he is still, sometimes; but aunt Lucy's face--Oh aunt Miriam!--" "Why, dear?" said aunt Miriam, tenderly. "It is so changed from what it used to be!" Poor Fleda covered her own, and aunt Miriam came to her side to give softer and gentler expression to sympathy than words could do; till the bowed face was raised again and hid in her neck. "I can't see thee do so my child--my dear child!--Hope for brighter days, dear Fleda." "I could bear it," said Fleda after a little interval, "if it wasn't for aunt Lucy and Hugh--oh that is the worst!--" "What about Hugh?" said aunt Miriam, soothingly. "Oh he does what he ought not to do, aunt Miriam, and there is no help for it,--and he did last summer--when we wanted men; and in the hot haying-time, he used to work, I know, beyond his strength,--and aunt Lucy and I did not know what to do with ourselves!--" Fleda's head which had been raised sunk again and more heavily. "Where was his father?" said Mrs. Plumfield. "Oh he was in the house--he didn't know it--he didn't think about it." "Didn't think about it!" "No--O he didn't think Hugh was hurting himself, but he was--he shewed it for weeks afterward.--I have said what I ought not now," said Fleda looking up and seeming to check her tears and the spring of them at once. "So much security any woman has in a man without religion!" said aunt Miriam, going back to her work. Fleda would have said something if she could; she was silent; she stood looking into the fire while the tears seemed to come as it were by stealth and ran down her face unregarded. "Is Hugh not well?" "I don't know,--" said Fleda faintly,--"he is not ill--but he never was very strong, and he exposes himself now I know in a way he ought not.--I am sorry I have just come and troubled you with all this now, aunt Miriam," she said after a little pause,--"I shall feel better by and by--I don't very often get such a fit." "My dear little Fleda!"--and there was unspeakable tenderness in the old lady's voice, as she came up and drew Fleda's head again to rest upon her;--"I would not let a rough wind touch thee if I had the holding of it.--But we may be glad the arranging of things is not in my hand--I should be a poor friend after all, for I do not know what is best. Canst thou trust him who does know, my child?" "I do, aunt Miriam,--O I do," said Fleda, burying her face in her bosom;--"I don't often feel so as I did to-day." "There comes not a cloud that its shadow is not wanted," said aunt Miriam. "I cannot see why,--but it is that thou mayest bloom the brighter, my dear one." "I know it,--" Fleda's words were hardly audible,--"I will try--" "Remember his own message to every one under a cloud--'cast all thy care upon him, for he careth for thee;'--thou mayest keep none of it;--and then the peace that passeth understanding shall keep thee. 'So he giveth his beloved sleep.'" Fleda wept for a minute on the old lady's neck, and then she looked up, dried her tears, and sat down with a face greatly quieted and lightened of its burden; while aunt Miriam once more went back to her work. The one wrought and the other looked on in silence. The cruller were all done at last; the great bread-trough was filled and set away; the remnant of the fat was carefully disposed of, and aunt Miriam's handmaid was called in to "take the watch." She herself and her visitor adjourned to the sitting-room. "Well," said Fleda, in a tone again steady and clear,--"I must go home to see about getting up a dinner. I am the greatest hand at making something out of nothing, aunt Miriam, that ever you saw. There is nothing like practice. I only wish the man uncle Orrin talks about would come along once in a while." "Who was that?" said aunt Miriam. "A man that used to go about from house to house," said Fleda laughing, "when the cottages were making soup, with a ham-bone to give it a relish, and he used to charge them so much for a dip, and so much for a wallop." "Come, come, I can do as much for you as that," said aunt Miriam, proceeding to her store-pantry,--"see here--wouldn't this be as good as a ham-bone?" said she, bringing out of it a fat fowl;--"how would a wallop of this do?" "Admirably!--only--the ham-bone used to come out again,--and I am confident this never would." "Well I guess I'll stand that," said aunt Miriam smiling,--"you wouldn't mind carrying this under your cloak, would you?" "I have no doubt I shall go home lighter with it than without it, ma'am,--thank you, dear aunty!--dear aunt Miriam!" There was a change of tone, and of eye, as Fleda sealed each thank with a kiss. "But how is it?--does all the charge of the house come upon you, dear?" "O, this kind of thing, because aunt Lucy doesn't understand it and can't get along with it so well. She likes better to sew, and I had quite as lief do this." "And don't you sew too?" "O--a little. She does as much as she can," said Fleda gravely. "Where is your other cousin?" said Mrs. Plumfield abruptly. "Marion?--she is in England I believe;--we don't hear from her very often." "No, no, I mean the one who is in the army?" "Charlton!--O he is just ordered off to Mexico," said Fleda sadly, "and that is another great trouble to aunt Lucy. This miserable war!--" "Does he never come home?" "Only once since we came from Paris--while we were in New York. He has been stationed away off at the West." "He has a captain's pay now, hasn't he?" "Yes, but he doesn't know at all how things are at home--he hasn't an idea of it,--and he will not have. Well good-bye, dear aunt Miriam--I must run home to take care of my chicken." She ran away; and if her eyes many a time on the way down the hill filled and overflowed, they were not bitter nor dark tears; they were the gushings of high and pure and generous affections, weeping for fulness, not for want. That chicken was not wasted in soup; it was converted into the nicest possible little fricassee, because the toast would make so much more of it; and to Fleda's own dinner little went beside the toast, that a greater portion of the rest might be for her aunt and Hugh. That same evening Seth Plumfield came into the kitchen while Fleda was there. "Here is something belongs to you, I believe," said he with a covert smile, bringing out from under his cloak the mate to Fleda's fowl;--"mother said somethin' had run away with t'other one and she didn't know what to do with this one alone. Your uncle at home?" The next news that Fleda heard was that Seth had taken a lease of the saw-mill for two years. Mr. Didenhover did not disappoint Fleda's expectations. Very little could be got from him or the farm under him beyond the immediate supply wanted for the use of the family; and that in kind, not in cash. Mrs. Rossitur was comforted by knowing that some portion of rent had also gone to Dr. Gregory--how large or how small a portion she could not find out. But this left the family in increasing straits, which narrowed and narrowed during the whole first summer and winter of Didenhover's administration. Very straitened they would have been but for the means of relief adopted by the two children, as they were always called. Hugh, as soon as the spring opened, had a quiet hint, through Fleda, that if he had a mind to take the working of the saw-mill he might, for a consideration merely nominal. This offer was immediately and gratefully closed with; and Hugh's earnings were thenceforward very important at home. Fleda had her own ways and means. Mr. Rossitur, more low-spirited and gloomy than ever, seemed to have no heart to anything. He would have worked perhaps if he could have done it alone; but to join Didenhover and his men, or any other gang of workmen, was too much for his magnanimity. He helped nobody but Fleda. For her he would do anything, at any time; and in the garden and among her flowers in the flowery courtyard he might often be seen at work with her. But nowhere else. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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