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Queechy

<h1> Chapter XXXIV. </h1> <blockquote> Have you observed a sitting hare, List'ning, and fearful of the storm Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear, Afraid to keep or leave her form? </blockquote> <blockquote> Prior. </blockquote> By the Evelyns' own desire Fleda's going to them was delayed for a week, because, they said, a furnace was to be brought into the house and they would be all topsy-turvy till that fuss was over. Fleda kept herself very quiet in the mean time, seeing almost nobody but the person whom it was her especial object to shun. Do her best she could not quite escape him, and was even drawn into two or three walks and rides; in spite of denying herself utterly to gentlemen at home, and losing in consequence a visit from her old friend. She was glad at last to go to the Evelyns and see company again, hoping that Mr. Thorn would be merged in a crowd. But she could not merge him; and sometimes was almost inclined to suspect that his constant prominence in the picture must be owing to some mysterious and wilful conjuration going on in the background. She was at a loss to conceive how else it happened that despite her utmost endeavours to the contrary she was so often thrown upon his care and obliged to take up with his company. It was very disagreeable. Mr. Carleton she saw almost as constantly, but though frequently near she had never much to do with him. There seemed to be a dividing atmosphere always in the way; and whenever he did speak to her she felt miserably constrained and unable to appear like herself. Why was it?--she asked herself in a very vexed state of mind. No doubt partly from the remembrance of that overheard conversation which she could not help applying, but much more from an indefinable sense that at these times there were always eyes upon her. She tried to charge the feeling upon her consciousness of their having heard that same talk, but it would not the more go off. And it had no chance to wear off, for somehow the occasions never lasted long; something was sure to break them up; while an unfortunate combination of circumstances, or of connivers, seemed to give Mr. Thorn unlimited facilities in the same kind. Fleda was quick witted and skilful enough to work herself out of them once in a while; more often the combination was too much for her simplicity and straight-forwardness. She was a little disappointed and a little surprised at Mr. Carleton's coolness. He was quite equal to withstand or out-general the schemes of any set of manoeuvrers; therefore it was plain he did not care for the society of his little friend and companion of old time. Fleda felt it, especially as she now and then heard him in delightful talk with somebody else; making himself so interesting that when Fleda could get a chance to listen she was quite ready to forgive his not talking to her for the pleasure of hearing him talk at all. But at other times she said sorrowfully to herself, "He will be going home presently, and I shall not have seen him!" One day she had successfully defended herself against taking a drive which Mr. Thorn came to propose, though the proposition had been laughingly backed by Mrs. Evelyn. Raillery was much harder to withstand than persuasion; but Fleda's quiet resolution had proved a match for both. The better to cover her ground, she declined to go out at all, and remained at home the only one of the family that fine day. In the afternoon Mr. Carleton was there. Fleda sat a little apart from the rest, industriously bending over a complicated piece of embroidery belonging to Constance and in which that young lady had made a great blunder which she declared her patience unequal to the task of rectifying. The conversation went gayly forward among the others; Fleda taking no part in it beyond an involuntary one. Mr. Carleton's part was rather reserved and grave; according to his manner in ordinary society. "What do you keep bothering yourself with that for?" said Edith coming to Fleda's side. "One must be doing something, you know," said Fleda lightly. "No you mustn't--not when you're tired--and I know you are. I'd let Constance pick out her own work." "I promised her I would do it," said Fleda. "Well, you didn't promise her when. Come!--everybody's been out but you, and you have sat here over this the whole day. Why don't you come over there and talk with the rest?--I know you want to, for I've watched your mouth going." "Going!--how?" "Going--off at the corners. I've seen it! Come." But Fleda said she could listen and work at once, and would not budge. Edith stood looking at her a little while in a kind of admiring sympathy, and then went back to the group. "Mr. Carleton," said the young lady, who was treading with laudable success in the steps of her sister Constance,--"what has become of that ride you promised to give me?" "I do not know, Miss Edith," said Mr. Carleton smiling, "for my conscience never had the keeping of it." "Hush, Edith!" said her mother; "do you think Mr. Carleton has nothing to do but to take you riding?" "I don't believe he has much to do," said Edith securely. "But Mr. Carleton, you did promise, for I asked you and you said nothing; and I always have been told that silence gives consent; so what is to become of it?" "Will you go now, Miss Edith?" "Now?--O yes! And will you go out to Manhattanville, Mr. Carleton!--along by the river?" "If you like. But Miss Edith, the carriage will hold another--cannot you persuade one of these ladies to go with us?" "Fleda!" said Edith, springing off to her with extravagant capers of joy,--"Fleda, you shall go! you haven't been out to-day." "And I cannot go out to-day," said Fleda gently. "The air is very fine," said Mr. Carleton approaching her table, with no want of alacrity in step or tone, her ears knew;--"and this weather makes everything beautiful--has that piece of canvas any claims upon you that cannot be put aside for a little?" "No sir," said Fleda,--"but--I am sorry I have a stronger reason that must keep me at home." "She knows how the weather looks," said Edith,--"Mr. Thorn takes her out every other day. It's no use to talk to her, Mr. Carleton,--when she says she won't, she won't." "Every other day!" said Fleda. "No, no," said Mrs. Evelyn coming up, and with that smile which Fleda had never liked so little as at that minute,--"not every other day, Edith, what are you talking of? Go and don't keep Mr. Carleton waiting." Fleda worked on, feeling a little aggrieved. Mr. Carleton stood still by her table, watching her, while his companions were getting themselves ready; but he said no more, and Fleda did not raise her head till the party were off. Florence had taken her resigned place. "I dare say the weather will be quite as fine to-morrow, dear Fleda," said Mrs. Evelyn softly. "I hope it will," said Fleda in a tone of resolute simplicity. "I only hope it will not bring too great a throng of carriages to the door," Mrs. Evelyn went on in a tone of great internal amusement;--"I never used to mind it, but I have lately a nervous fear of collisions." "To-morrow is not your reception-day," said Fleda. "No, not mine," said Mrs. Evelyn softly,--"but that doesn't signify--it may be one of my neighbours'." Fleda pulled away at her threads of worsted and wouldn't know anything else. "I have read of the servants of Lot and the servants of Abraham quarrelling," Mrs. Evelyn went on in the same undertone of delight,--"because the land was too strait for them--I should be very sorry to have anything of the sort happen again, for I cannot imagine where Lot would go to find a plain that would suit him." "Lot and Abraham, mamma!" said Constance from the sofa,--"what on earth are you talking about?" "None of your business," said Mrs. Evelyn;--"I was talking of some country friends of mine that you don't know." Constance knew her mother's laugh very well; but Mrs. Evelyn was impenetrable. The next day Fleda ran away and spent a good part of the morning with her uncle in the library, looking over new books; among which she found herself quite a stranger, so many had made their appearance since the time when she had much to do with libraries or bookstores. Living friends, male and female, were happily forgotten in the delighted acquaintance-making with those quiet companions which, whatever their deficiencies in other respects, are at least never importunate nor unfaithful. Fleda had come home rather late and was dressing for dinner with Constance's company and help, when Mrs. Evelyn came into her room. "My dear Fleda," said the lady, her face and voice as full as possible of fun,--"Mr. Carleton wants to know if you will ride with him this afternoon.--I told him I believed you were in general shy of gentlemen that drove their own horses--that I thought I had noticed you were,--but I would come up and see." "Mrs. Evelyn!--you did not tell him that?" "He said he was sorry to see you looked pale yesterday when he was asking you; and he was afraid that embroidery is not good for you. He thinks you are a very charming girl!--" And Mrs. Evelyn went off into little fits of laughter which unstrung all Fleda's nerves. She stood absolutely trembling. "Mamma!--don't plague her!" said Constance. "He didn't say so." "He did!--upon my word!--" said Mrs. Evelyn, speaking with great difficulty;--"he said she was very charming, and it might be dangerous to see too much of her." "You made him say that, Mrs. Evelyn!" said Fleda, reproachfully. "Well I did ask him if you were not very charming, but he answered--without hesitation--" said the lady,--"I am only so afraid that Lot will make his appearance!--" Fleda turned round to the glass, and went on arranging her hair, with a quivering lip. "Lot, mamma!" said Constance somewhat indignantly. "Yes," said Mrs. Evelyn in ecstacies,--"because the land will not bear both of them.--But Mr. Carleton is very much in earnest for his answer, Fleda my dear--what shall I tell him?--You need be under no apprehensions about going--he will perhaps tell you that you are charming, but I don't think he will say anything more. You know he is a kind of patriarch!--And when I asked him if he didn't think it might be dangerous to see too much of you, he said he thought it might to some people--so you see you are safe." "Mrs. Evelyn, how could you use my name so!" said Fleda with a voice that carried a good deal of reproach. "My dear Fleda, shall I tell him you will go?--You need not be afraid to go riding, only you must not let yourself be seen walking with him." "I shall not go, ma'am," said Fleda quietly. "I wanted to send Edith with you, thinking it would be pleasanter; but I knew Mr. Carleton's carriage would hold but two to-day. So what shall I tell him?" "I am not going, ma'am," repeated Fleda. "But what shall I tell him? I must give him some reason. Shall I say that you think a sea-breeze is blowing, and you don't like it?--or shall I say that prospects are a matter of indifference to you?" Fleda was quite silent, and went on dressing herself with trembling fingers. "My dear Fleda," said the lady bringing her face a little into order,--"won't you go?--I am very sorry--" "So am I sorry," said Fleda. "I can't go, Mrs. Evelyn." "I will tell Mr. Carleton you are very sorry," said Mrs. Evelyn, every line of her face drawing again,--"that will console him; and let him hope that you will not mind sea-breezes by and by, after you have been a little longer in the neighbourhood of them. I will tell him you are a good republican, and have an objection at present to an English equipage, but I have no doubt that it is a prejudice which will wear off." She stopped to laugh, while Fleda had the greatest difficulty not to cry. The lady did not seem to see her disturbed brow; but recovering herself after a little, though not readily, she bent forward and touched her lips to it in kind fashion. Fleda did not look up; and saying again, "I will tell him, dear Fleda!"--Mrs. Evelyn left the room. Constance after a little laughing and condoling, neither of which Fleda attempted to answer, ran off too, to dress herself; and Fleda after finishing her own toilette locked her door, sat down and cried heartily. She thought Mrs. Evelyn had been, perhaps unconsciously, very unkind; and to say that unkindness has not been meant is but to shift the charge from one to another vital point in the character of a friend, and one perhaps sometimes not less grave. A moment's passionate wrong may consist with the endurance of a friendship worth having, better than the thoughtlessness of obtuse wits that can never know how to be kind. Fleda's whole frame was still in a tremor from disagreeable excitement; and she had serious causes of sorrow to cry for. She was sorry she had lost what would have been a great pleasure in the ride,--and her great pleasures were not often,--but nothing would have been more impossible than for her to go after what Mrs. Evelyn had said;--she was sorry Mr. Carleton should have asked her twice in vain; what must he think?--she was exceeding sorry that a thought should have been put into her head that never before had visited the most distant dreams of her imagination,--so needlessly, so gratuitously;--she was very sorry, for she could not be free of it again, and she felt it would make her miserably hampered and constrained in mind and manner both, in any future intercourse with the person in question. And then again what would he think of that? Poor Fleda came to the conclusion that her best place was at home; and made up her mind to take the first good opportunity of getting there. She went down to dinner with no traces of either tears or unkindness on her sweet face, but her nerves were quivering all the afternoon; she could not tell whether Mrs. Evelyn and her daughters found it out. And it was impossible for her to get back even her old degree of freedom of manner before either Mr. Carleton or Mr Thorn. All the more because Mrs. Evelyn was every now and then bringing out some sly allusion which afforded herself intense delight and wrought Fleda to the last degree of quietness. Unkind.--Fleda thought now it was but half from ignorance of the mischief she was doing, and the other half from the mere desire of selfish gratification. The times and ways in which Lot and Abraham were walked into the conversation were incalculable,--and unintelligible except to the person who understood it only too well. On one occasion Mrs. Evelyn went on with a long rigmarole to Mr. Thorn about sea-breezes, with a face of most exquisite delight at his mystification and her own hidden fun; till Fleda was absolutely trembling. Fleda shunned both the gentlemen at length with a kind of nervous horror. One steamer had left New York, and another, and still Mr. Carleton did not leave it. Why he staid, Constance was as much in a puzzle as ever, for no mortal could guess. Clearly, she said, he did not delight in New York society, for he honoured it as slightly and partially as might be, and it was equally clear if he had a particular reason for staying he didn't mean anybody should know it. "If he don't mean it, you won't find it out, Constance," said Fleda. "But it is that very consideration, you see, which inflames my impatience to a most dreadful degree. I think our house is distinguished with his regards, though I am sure I can't imagine why, for he never condescends to anything beyond general benevolence when he is here, and not always to that. He has no taste for embroidery, or Miss Ringgan's crewels would receive more of his notice--he listens to my spirited conversation with a self-possession which invariably deprives me of mine!--and his ear is evidently dull to musical sensibilities, or Florence's harp would have greater charms. I hope there is a web weaving somewhere that will catch him--at present he stands in an attitude of provoking independence of all the rest of the world. It is curious!" said Constance with an indescribable face,--"I feel that the independence of another is rapidly making a slave of me!--" "What do you mean, Constance?" said Edith indignantly. But the others could do nothing but laugh. Fleda did not wonder that Mr. Carleton made no more efforts to get her to ride, for the very next day after his last failure he had met her driving with Mr. Thorn. Fleda had been asked by Mr. Thorn's mother in such a way as made it impossible to get off; but it caused her to set a fresh seal of unkindness to Mrs. Evelyn's behaviour. One evening when there was no other company at Mrs. Evelyn's, Mr. Stackpole was entertaining himself with a long dissertation upon the affairs of America, past, present, and future. It was a favourite subject; Mr. Stackpole always seemed to have more complacent enjoyment of his easy chair when he could succeed in making every American in the room sit uncomfortably. And this time, without any one to thwart him, he went on to his heart's content, disposing of the subject as one would strip a rose of its petals, with as much seeming nonchalance and ease, and with precisely the same design, to make a rose no rose. Leaf after leaf fell under Mr. Stackpole's touch, as if it had been a black frost. The American government was a rickety experiment; go to pieces presently,--American institutions an alternative between fallacy and absurdity, the fruit of raw minds and precocious theories;--American liberty a contradiction;-- American character a compound of quackery and pretension;--American society (except at Mrs. Evelyn's) an anomaly;--American destiny the same with that of a Cactus or a volcano; a period of rest followed by a period of excitement; not however like the former making successive shoots towards perfection, but like the latter grounding every new face of things upon the demolition of that which went before. Smoothly and pleasantly Mr. Stackpole went on compounding this cup of entertainment for himself and his hearers, smacking his lips over it, and all the more, Fleda thought, when they made wry faces; throwing in a little truth, a good deal of fallacy, a great deal of perversion and misrepresentation; while Mrs. Evelyn listened and smiled, and half parried and half assented to his positions; and Fleda sat impatiently drumming upon her elbow with the fingers of her other hand, in the sheer necessity of giving some expression to her feelings. Mr. Stackpole at last got his finger upon the sore spot of American slavery, and pressed it hard. "This is the land of the stars and the stripes!" said the gentleman in a little fit of virtuous indignation;--"This is the land where all are brothers!--where 'All men are born free and equal.'" "Mr. Stackpole," said Fleda in a tone that called his attention,--"are you well acquainted with the popular proverbs of your country?" "Not particularly," he said,--"he had never made it a branch of study." "I am a great admirer of them." He bowed, and begged to be excused for remarking that he didn't see the point yet. "Do you remember this one, sir," said Fleda colouring a little,--"'Those that live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones?'" "I have heard it; but pardon me,--though your remark seems to imply the contrary I am in the dark yet. What unfortunate points of vitrification have I laid open to your fire?" "I thought they were probably forgotten by you, sir." "I shall be exceedingly obliged to you if you will put me in condition to defend myself." "I think nothing could do that, Mr. Stackpole. Under whose auspices and fostering care was this curse of slavery laid upon America?" "Why--of course,--but you will observe, Miss Ringgan, that at that day the world was unenlightened on a great many points;--since then we have cast off the wrong which we then shared with the rest of mankind." "Ay sir, but not until we had first repudiated it and Englishmen had desired to force it back upon us at the point of the sword. Four times"-- "But my dear Fleda," interrupted Mrs. Evelyn, "the English nation have no slaves nor slave-trade--they have put an end to slavery entirely everywhere under their flag." "They were very slow about it," said Fleda. "Four times the government of Massachusetts abolished the slave-trade under their control, and four times the English government thrust it back upon them. Do you remember what Burke says about that?--in his speech on Conciliation with America?" "It don't signify what Burke says about it," said Mr. Stackpole rubbing his chin,--"Burke is not the first authority--but Miss Ringgan, it is undeniable that slavery and the slave-trade, too, does at this moment exist in the interior of your own country." "I will never excuse what is wrong, sir; but I think it becomes an Englishman to be very moderate in putting forth that charge." "Why?" said he hastily;--"we have done away with it entirely in our own dominions;--wiped that stain clean off. Not a slave can touch British ground but he breathes free air from that minute." "Yes, sir, but candour will allow that we are not in a condition in this country to decide the question by a tour de force." "What is to decide it then?" said he a little arrogantly. "The progress of truth in public opinion." "And why not the government--as well as our government?" "It has not the power, you know, sir." "Not the power! well, that speaks for itself." "Nothing against us, on a fair construction," said Fleda patiently. "It is well known to those who understand the subject"-- "Where did you learn so much about it, Fleda?" said Mrs. Evelyn humourously. "As the birds pick up their supplies, ma'am--here and there.--It is well known, Mr. Stackpole, that our constitution never could have been agreed upon if that question of slavery had not been by common consent left where it was--with the separate state governments." "The separate state governments--well, why do not they put an end to it? The disgrace is only shifted." "Of course they must first have the consent of the public mind of those states." "Ah!--their consent!--and why is their consent wanting?" "We cannot defend ourselves there," said Mrs. Evelyn;--"I wish we could." "The disgrace at least is shifted from the whole to a part. But will you permit me," said Fleda, "to give another quotation from my despised authority, and remind you of an Englishman's testimony, that beyond a doubt that point of emancipation would never have been carried in parliament had the interests of even a part of the electors been concerned in it." "It was done, however,--and done at the expense of twenty millions of money." "And I am sure that was very noble," said Florence. "It was what no nation but the English would ever have done," said Mrs. Evelyn. "I do not wish to dispute it," said Fleda; "but still it was doing what did not touch the sensitive point of their own well-being." "We think there is a little national honour concerned in it," said Mr. Stackpole dryly, stroking his chin again. "So does every right-minded person," said Mrs. Evelyn; "I am sure I do." "And I am sure so do I," said Fleda; "but I think the honour of a piece of generosity is considerably lessened by the fact that it is done at the expense of another." "Generosity!" said Mr. Stackpole,--"it was not generosity, it was justice;--there was no generosity about it." "Then it deserves no honour at all," said Fleda, "if it was merely that--the tardy execution of justice is but the removal of a reproach." "We Englishmen are of opinion, however," said Mr. Stackpole contentedly, "that the removers of a reproach are entitled to some honour which those who persist in retaining it cannot claim." "Yes," said Fleda, drawing rather a long breath,--"I acknowledge that; but I think that while some of these same Englishmen have shewn themselves so unwilling to have the condition of their own factory slaves ameliorated, they should be very gentle in speaking of wrongs which we have far less ability to rectify." "Ah!--I like consistency," said Mr. Stackpole. "America shouldn't dress up poles with liberty caps till all who walk under are free to wear them. She cannot boast that the breath of her air and the breath of freedom are one." "Can England?" said Fleda gently,--"when her own citizens are not free from the horrors of impressment?" "Pshaw!" said Mr. Stackpole, half in a pet and half laughing,--"why, where did you get such a fury against England?--you are the first fair antagonist I have met on this side of the water." "I wish I was a better one, sir," said Fleda laughing. "Miss Ringgan has been prejudiced by an acquaintance with one or two unfortunate specimens," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Ay!" said Mr. Stackpole a little bitterly,--"America is the natural birthplace of prejudice,--always was." "Displayed, first, in maintaining the rights against the swords of Englishmen;--latterly, how, Mr. Stackpole?" "It isn't necessary to enlighten you on any part of the subject," said he a little pointedly. "Fleda, my dear, you are answered!" said Mrs. Evelyn, apparently with great internal amusement. "Yet you will indulge me so far as to indicate what part of the subject you are upon?" said Fleda quietly. "You must grant so much as that to so gentle a requisition, Mr. Stackpole," said the older lady. "I venture to assume that you do not say that on your own account, Mrs. Evelyn?" "Not at all--I agree with you, that Americans are prejudiced; but I think it will pass off, Mr. Stackpole, as they learn to know themselves and other countries better." "But how do they deserve such a charge and such a defence? or how have they deserved it?" said Fleda. "Tell her, Mr. Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Why," said Mr. Stackpole,--"in their absurd opposition to all the old and tried forms of things, and rancorous dislike of those who uphold them; and in their pertinacity on every point where they might be set right, and impatience of hearing the truth." "Are they singular in that last item?" said Fleda. "Now," said Mr. Stackpole, not heeding her,--"there's your treatment of the aborigines of this country--what do you call that, for a free people?" "A powder magazine, communicating with a great one of your own somewhere else; so if you are a good subject, sir, you will not carry a lighted candle into it." "One of our own--where?" said he. "In India," said Fleda with a glance,--"and there are I don't know how many trains leading to it,--so better hands off, sir." "Where did you pick up such a spite against us?" said Mr. Stackpole, drawing a little back and eying her as one would a belligerent mouse or cricket. "Will you tell me now that Americans are not prejudiced?" "What do you call prejudice?" said Fleda smiling. "O there is a great deal of it, no doubt, here, Mr. Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn blandly;--"but we shall grow out of it in time;--it is only the premature wisdom of a young people." "And young people never like to hear their wisdom rebuked," said Mr Stackpole bowing. "Fleda, my dear, what for is that little significant shake of your head?" said Mrs. Evelyn in her amused voice. "A trifle, ma'am." "Covers a hidden rebuke, Mrs. Evelyn, I have no doubt, for both our last remarks. What is it, Miss Fleda?--I dare say we can bear it." "I was thinking, sir, that none would trouble themselves much about our foolscap if we had not once made them wear it." "Mr. Stackpole, you are worsted!--I only wish Mr. Carleton had been here!" said Mrs. Evelyn, with a face of excessive delight. "I wish he had," said Fleda, "for then I need not have spoken a word." "Why," said Mr. Stackpole a little irritated, "you suppose he would have fought for you against me?" "I suppose he would have fought for truth against anybody, sir," said Fleda. "Even against his own interests?" "If I am not mistaken in him," said Fleda, "he reckons his own and those of truth identical." The shout that was raised at this by all the ladies of the family, made her look up in wonderment. "Mr. Carleton,"--said Mrs. Evelyn,--"what do you say to that, sir." The direction of the lady's eye made Fleda spring up and face about. The gentleman in question was standing quietly at the back of her chair, too quietly, she saw, to leave any doubt of his having been there some time. Mr. Stackpole uttered an ejaculation, but Fleda stood absolutely motionless, and nothing could be prettier than her colour. "What do you say to what you have heard, Mr. Carleton?" said Mrs. Evelyn. Fleda's eyes were on the floor, but she thoroughly appreciated the tone of the question. "I hardly know whether I have listened with most pleasure or pain, Mrs. Evelyn." "Pleasure!" said Constance. "Pain!" said Mr. Stackpole. "I am certain Miss Ringgan was pure from any intention of giving pain," said Mrs. Evelyn with her voice of contained fun. "She has no national antipathies, I am sure,--unless in the case of the Jews,--she is too charming a girl for that." "Miss Ringgan cannot regret less than I a word that she has spoken," said Mr. Carleton looking keenly at her as she drew back and took a seat a little off from the rest. "Then why was the pain?" said Mr. Stackpole. "That there should have been any occasion for them, sir." "Well I wasn't sensible of the occasion, so I didn't feel the pain," said Mr. Stackpole dryly, for the other gentleman's tone was almost haughtily significant. "But if I had, the pleasure of such sparkling eyes would have made me forget it. Good-evening, Mrs. Evelyn--good-evening, my gentle antagonist,--it seems to me you have learned, if it is permissible to alter one of your favorite proverbs, that it is possible to break two windows with one stone. However, I don't feel that I go away with any of mine shattered."-- "Fleda, my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn laughing,--"what do you say to that?" "As he is not here I will say nothing to it, Mrs. Evelyn," said Fleda, quietly drawing off to the table with her work, and again in a tremor from head to foot. "Why, didn't you see Mr. Carleton come in?" said Edith following her;--"I did--he came in long before you had done talking, and mamma held up her finger and made him stop; and he stood at the back of your chair the whole time listening. Mr. Stackpole didn't know he was there, either. But what's the matter with you?" "Nothing--" said Fleda,--but she made her escape out of the room the next instant. "Mamma," said Edith, "what ails Fleda?" "I don't know, my love," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Nothing, I hope." "There does, though," said Edith decidedly. "Come here, Edith," said Constance, "and don't meddle with matters above your comprehension. Miss Ringgan has probably hurt her hand with throwing stones." "Hurt her hand!" said Edith. But she was taken possession of by her eldest sister. "That is a lovely girl, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn with an indescribable look--outwardly benign, but beneath that most keen in its scrutiny. He bowed rather abstractedly. "She will make a charming little farmer's wife, don't you think so?" "Is that her lot, Mrs. Evelyn?" he said with a somewhat incredulous smile. "Why no--not precisely,--" said the lady,--"you know in the country, or you do not know, the ministers are half farmers, but I suppose not more than half; just such a mixture as will suit Fleda, I should think. She has not told me in so many words, but it is easy to read so ingenuous a nature as hers, and I have discovered that there is a most deserving young friend of mine settled at Queechy that she is by no means indifferent to. I take it for granted that will be the end of it," said Mrs. Evelyn, pinching her sofa cushion in a great many successive places with a most composed and satisfied air. But Mr. Carleton did not seem at all interested in the subject, and presently introduced another. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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