"With superfluity of breeding
First makes you sick, and then with feeding."
JENYNS.

Miss Anastasia was a little surprised and a good deal gratified, Fleda saw, by her coming, and played the hostess with great benignity. The quilting-frame was stretched in an upper room, not in the long kitchen, to Fleda's joy; most of the company were already seated at it, and she had to go through a long string of introductions before she was permitted to take her place. First of all, Earl Douglass's wife, who rose up, and taking both Fleda's hands, squeezed and shook them heartily, giving her, with eye and lip, a most genial welcome. This lady had every look of being a very clever woman "a manager," she was said to be; and, indeed, her very nose had a little pinch, which prepared one for nothing superfluous about her. Even her dress could not have wanted another breadth from the skirt, and had no fullness to spare about the body neat as a pin, though; and a well-to-do look through it all. Miss Quackenboss Fleda recognised as an old friend, gilt beads and all. Catherine Douglass had grown up to a pretty girl during the five years since Fleda had left Queechy, and gave her a greeting, half-smiling, half-shy. There was a little more affluence about the flow of her drapery, and the pink ribbon round her neck was confined by a little dainty Jew's-harp of a brooch; she had her mother's pinch of the nose too. Then there were two other young ladies Miss Letitia Ann Thornton, a tall-grown girl in pantalettes, evidently a would-be aristocrat, from the air of her head and lip, with a well-looking face, and looking well knowing of the same, and sporting neat little white cuffs at her wrists the only one who bore such a distinction. The third of these damsels, Jessie Healy, impressed Fleda with having been brought up upon coarse meat, and having grown heavy in consequence; the other two were extremely fair and delicate, both in complexion and feature. Her aunt Syra, Fleda recognised without particular pleasure, and managed to seat herself at the quilt with the sewing-woman and Miss Hannah between them. Miss Lucy Finn she found seated at her right hand, but after all the civilities she had just gone through, Fleda had not courage just then to dash into business with her, and Miss Lucy herself stitched away, and was dumb.

So were the rest of the party rather. The presence of the new comer seemed to have the effect of a spell. Fleda could not think they had been as silent before her joining them, as they were for some time afterwards. The young ladies were absolutely mute, and conversation seemed to flag even among the elder ones; and if Fleda ever raised her eyes from the quilt to look at somebody, she was sure to see somebody's eyes looking at her, with a curiosity well enough defined, and mixed with a more or less amount of benevolence and pleasure. Fleda was growing very industrious and feeling her cheeks grow warm, when the checked stream of conversation began to take revenge by turning its tide upon her.

"Are you glad to be back to Queechy, Fleda?" said Mrs.
Douglass, from the opposite far end of the quilt.

"Yes Ma'am," said Fleda, smiling back her answer "on some accounts."

"Ain't she growed like her father, Mis' Douglass?" said the sewing-woman. "Do you recollect Walter Ringgan? What a handsome feller he was!"

The two opposite girls immediately found something to say to each other.

"She aint a bit more like him than she is like her mother," said Mrs. Douglass, biting off the end of her thread energetically. "Amy Ringgan was a sweet good woman as ever was in this town."

Again her daughter's glance and smile went over to the speaker.

"You stay in Queechy, and live like Queechy folks do," Mrs. Douglass added, nodding encouragingly, "and you'll beat both on 'em."

But this speech jarred, and Fleda wished it had not been spoken.

"How does your uncle like farming?" said aunt Syra.

A home thrust, which Fleda parried by saying he had hardly got accustomed to it yet.

"What's been his business? what has he been doing all his life till now?" said the sewing-woman.

Fleda replied that he had had no business; and after the minds of the company had had time to entertain this statement, she was startled by Miss Lucy's voice at her elbow.

"It seems kind o' curious, don't it, that a man should live to be forty or fifty years old, and not know anything of the earth he gets his bread from?"

"What makes you think he don't?" said Miss Thornton, rather tartly.

"She wa'n't speaking o' nobody," said aunt Syra.

"I was I was speaking of man I was speaking abstractly," said Fleda's right-hand neighbour.

"What's abstractly?" said Miss Anastasia, scornfully.

"Where do you get hold of such hard words, Lucy?" said Mrs.
Douglass.

"I don't know, Mis' Douglass, they come to me; it's practice,
I suppose. I had no intention of being obscure."

"One kind o' word 's as easy as another, I suppose, when you're used to it, aint it?" said the sewing-woman.

"What's abstractly?" said the mistress of the house, again.

"Look in the dictionary, if you want to know," said her sister.

"I don't want to know I only want you to tell."

"When do you get time for it, Lucy? ha'n't you nothing else to practise?" pursued Mrs. Douglass.

"Yes, Mis' Douglass; but then there are times for exertion, and other times less disposable; and when I feel thoughtful or low, I commonly retire to my room, and contemplate the stars, or write a composition."

The sewing-woman greeted this speech with an unqualified ha! ha! and Fleda involuntarily raised her head to look at the last speaker; but there was nothing to be noticed about her, except that she was in rather nicer order than the rest of the Finn family.

"Did you get home safe last night?" inquired Miss Quackenboss, bending forward over the quilt to look down to Fleda.

Fleda thanked her, and replied that they had been overturned, and had several ribs broken.

"And where have you been, Fleda, all this while?" said Mrs.
Douglass.

Fleda told, upon which all the quilting party raised their heads simultaneously, to take another review of her.

"Your uncle's wife aint a Frenchwoman, be she?" asked the sewing-woman.

Fleda said, "Oh, no!" and Miss Quackenboss remarked, that "she thought she wa'n't;" whereby Fleda perceived it had been a subject of discussion.

"She lives like one, don't she?" said aunt Syra.

Which imputation Fleda also refuted to the best of her power.

"Well, don't she have dinner in the middle of the afternoon?" pursued aunt Syra.

Fleda was obliged to admit that.

"And she can't eat without she has a fresh piece of roast meat on table every day, can she?"

"It is not always roast," said Fleda, half vexed and half laughing.

"I'd rather have a good dish o' bread and 'lasses, than the hull on't," observed old Mrs. Finn, from the corner where she sat, manifestly turning up her nose at the far-off joints on Mrs. Rossitur's dinner-table.

The girls on the other side of the quilt again held counsel together, deep and low.

"Well, didn't she pick up all them notions in that place yonder? where you say she has been?" aunt Syra went on.

"No," said Fleda; "everybody does so in New York."

"I want to know what kind of a place New York is, now," said old Mrs. Finn, drawlingly. "I s'pose it's pretty big, aint it?"

Fleda replied that it was.

"I shouldn't wonder if it was a'most as far as from here to
Queechy Run, now; aint it?"

The distance mentioned being somewhere about one-eighth of New York's longest diameter, Fleda answered that it was quite as far.

"I s'pose there's plenty o' mighty rich folks there, aint there?"

"Plenty, I believe," said Fleda.

"I should hate to live in it awfully," was the old woman's conclusion.

"I should admire to travel in many countries," said Miss Lucy, for the first time seeming to intend her words particularly for Fleda's ear. "I think nothing makes people more genteel. I have observed it frequently."

Fleda said it was very pleasant; but though encouraged by this opening, could not muster enough courage to ask if Miss Lucy had a "notion" to come and prove their gentility. Her next question was startling if Fleda had ever studied mathematics.

"No," said Fleda. "Have you?"

"O my, yes! There was a lot of us concluded we would learn it; and we commenced to study it a long time ago. I think it's a most elevating "

The discussion was suddenly broken off, for the sewing-woman exclaimed, as the other sister came in and took her seat

"Why, Hannah! you ha'n't been makin' bread with that clock on your hands!"

"Well, Mis' Barnes!" said the girl; "I've washed 'em, and I've made bread with 'em, and even that did not take it off!"

"Do you look at the stars, too, Hannah?" said Mrs. Douglass.

Amidst a small hubbub of laugh and talk which now became general, poor Fleda fell back upon one single thought, one wish that Hugh would come to fetch her home before tea-time. But it was a vain hope. Hugh was not to be there till sundown, and supper was announced long before that. They all filed down, and Fleda with them, to the great kitchen below stairs; and she found herself placed in the seat of honour indeed, but an honour she would gladly have escaped, at Miss Anastasia's right hand.

A temporary locked-jaw would have been felt a blessing. Fleda dared hardly even look about her; but under the eye of her hostess the instinct of good breeding was found sufficient to swallow everything, literally and figuratively. There was a good deal to swallow. The usual variety of cakes, sweetmeats, beef, cheese, biscuits, and pies, was set out with some peculiarity of arrangement which Fleda had never seen before, and which left that of Miss Quackenboss elegant by comparison. Down each side of the table ran an advanced guard of little sauces in Indian file, but in companies of three, the file leader of each being a saucer of custard, its follower a ditto of preserves, and the third keeping a sharp look-out in the shape of pickles; and to Fleda's unspeakable horror, she discovered that the guests were expected to help themselves at will from these several stores with their own spoons, transferring what they took either to their own plates, or at once to its final destination, which last mode several of the company preferred. The advantage of this plan was the necessary great display of the new silver tea-spoons, which Mrs. Douglass slily hinted to aunt Syra were the moving cause of the tea-party. But aunt Syra swallowed sweetmeats, and would not give heed.

There was no relief for poor Fleda. Aunt Syra was her next neighbour, and opposite to her, at Miss Anastasia's left hand, was the disagreeable countenance and peering eyes of the old crone, her mother. Fleda kept her own eyes fixed upon her plate, and endeavoured to see nothing but that.

"Why, here's Fleda aint eating anything," said Mrs. Douglass.
"Wont you have some preserves? take some custard, do!
Anastasy, she ha'n't a spoon no wonder!"

Fleda had secretly conveyed hers under cover.

"There was one," said Miss Anastasia, looking about where one should have been. I'll get another as soon as I give Mis' Springer her tea."

"Ha'n't you got enough to go round?" said the old woman, plucking at her daughter's sleeve. "Anastasy! ha'n't you got enough to go round?"

This speech, which was spoken with a most spiteful simplicity, Miss Anastasia answered with superb silence, and presently produced spoons enough to satisfy herself and the company. But Fleda! No earthly persuasion could prevail upon her to touch pickles, sweetmeats, or custard that evening; and even in the bread and cakes she had a vision of hands before her that took away her appetite. She endeavoured to make a show with hung beef and cups of tea, which indeed was not Pouchong; but her supper came suddenly to an end upon a remark of her hostess, addressed to the whole table, that they needn't be surprised if they found any bits of pudding in the gingerbread, for it was made from the molasses the children left the other day. Who "the children" were Fleda did not know, neither was it material.

It was sundown, but Hugh had not come when they went to the upper rooms again. Two were open now, for they were small, and the company promised not to be such. Fathers and brothers, and husbands began to come, and loud talking, and laughing and joking took place of the quilting chit-chat. Fleda would fain have absorbed herself in the work again, but though the frame still stood there, the minds of the company were plainly turned aside from their duty, or perhaps they thought that Miss Anastasia had had admiration enough to dispense with service. Nobody showed a thimble but one or two old ladies; and as numbers and spirits gathered strength, a kind of romping game was set on foot, in which a vast deal of kissing seemed to be the grand wit of the matter. Fleda shrank away out of sight behind the open door of communication between the two rooms, pleading, with great truth, that she was tired, and would like to keep perfectly quiet; and she had soon the satisfaction of being apparently forgotten.

In the other room, some of the older people were enjoying themselves more soberly. Fleda's ear was too near the crack of the door, not to have the benefit of more of their conversation than she cared for. It soon put quiet of mind out of the question.

"He'll twist himself up pretty short that's my sense of it; and he wont take long to do it, nother," said Earl Douglass's voice.

Fleda would have known it anywhere, from its extreme peculiarity. It never either rose or fell much from a certain pitch; and at that level the words gurgled forth, seemingly from an everbrimming fountain; he never wanted one; and the stream had neither let nor stay till his modicum of sense had fairly run out. People thought he had not a greater stock of that than some of his neighbours; but he issued an amount of word-currency sufficient for the use of the county.

"He'll run himself agin a post pretty quick," said uncle
Joshua, in a confirmatory tone of voice.

Fleda had a confused idea that somebody was going to hang himself.

"He aint a-workin' things right," said Douglass; "he aint a- workin' things right; he's takin' hold o' everything by the tail end. He aint studied the business; he doesn't know when things is right, and he doesn't know when things is wrong; and if they're wrong, he don't know how to set 'em right. He's got a feller there that aint no more fit to be there, than I am to be Vice-President of the United States; and I aint a-going to say what I think I am fit for, but I ha'n't studied for that place, and I shouldn't like to stand an examination for't; and a man hadn't ought to be a farmer no more if he ha'n't qualified himself. That's my idee. I like to see a thing done well, if it's to be done at all; and there aint a stitch o' land been laid right on the hull farm, nor a furrow driv' as it had ought to be, since he came on to it; and I say, Squire Springer, a man aint going to get along in that way, and he hadn't ought to. I work hard myself, and I calculate to work hard, and I make a livin' by't; and I'm content to work hard. When I see a man with his hands in his pockets, I think he'll have nothin' else in 'em soon. I don't believe he's done a hand's turn himself on the land the hull season!"

And upon this Mr. Douglass brought up.

"My son, Lucas, has been workin' with him, off and on, pretty much the hull time since he come; and he says he ha'n't begun to know how to spell farmer yet."

"Ay, ay! My wife she's a little harder on folks than I be I think it aint worth while to say nothin' of a man without I can say some good of him that's my idee; and it don't do no harm, nother; but my wife, she says he's got to let down his notions a peg or two afore they'll hitch just in the right place; and I wont say but what I think she aint, maybe, fur from right. If a man's above his business, he stands a pretty fair chance to be below it some day. I wont say myself, for I haven't any acquaintance with him, and a man oughtn't to speak but of what he's knowing to; but I have heerd say, that he wa'n't as conversationable as it would ha' been handsome in him to be, all things considerin.' There seems to be a good many things said of him, somehow, and l always think men don't talk of a man if he don't give 'em occasion; but, anyhow, I've been past the farm pretty often myself this summer, working with Seth Plumfield; and I've took notice of things myself; and I know he's been makin' beds o' sparrowgrass when he had ought to ha' been makin' fences, and he's been helpin' that little girl o' his'n set her flowers, when he would ha' been better sot to work lookin' after his Irishman. But I don't know as it made much matter, nother; for if he went wrong, Mr. Rossitur wouldn't know how to set him right, and if he was a- going right, Mr. Rossitur would ha' been just as likely to ha' set him wrong. Well, I'm sorry for him!"

"Mr. Rossitur is a most gentlemanlike man," said the voice of
Dr. Quackenboss.

"Ay I dare say he is," Earl responded, in precisely the same tone. "I was down to his house one day last summer to see him. He wa'n't to hum, though."

"It would be strange if harm come to a man with such a guardian angel in the house as that man has in his'n." said Dr. Quackenboss.

"Well she's a pretty creetur!" said Douglass, looking up with some animation. "I wouldn't blame any man that sot a good deal by her. I will say I think she's as handsome as my own darter; and a man can't go no furder than that, I suppose."

"She wont help his farming much, I guess," said uncle Joshua, "nor his wife nother."

Fleda heard Dr. Quackenboss coming through the doorway, and started from her corner, for fear he might find her out there, and know what she had heard.

He very soon found her out in the new place she had chosen, and came up to pay his compliments. Fleda was in a mood for anything but laughing, yet the mixture of the ludicrous which the doctor administered set her nerves a-twitching. Bringing his chair down sideways at one angle and his person at another, so as to meet at the moment of the chair's touching the floor, and with a look and smile, slanting to match, the doctor said

"Well, Miss Ringgan, has a Mrs. Rossitur does she feel herself reconciled yet?"

"Reconciled, Sir?' said Fleda.

"Yes a to Queechy?"

"She never quarrelled with it, Sir," said Fleda, quite unable to keep from laughing.

"Yes I mean a she feels that she can sustain her spirits in different situations?"

"She is very well, Sir, thank you."

"It must have been a great change to her and to you all coming to this place."

"Yes, Sir; the country is very different from the city."

"In what part of New York was Mr. Rossitur's former residence?"

" In State-street, Sir."

"State-street that is somewhere in the direction of the
Park?"

"No, Sir, not exactly."

"Was Mrs. Rossitur a native of the city?"

"Not of New York. Oh, Hugh! my dear Hugh!" exclaimed Fleda, in another tone "what have you been thinking of?"

"Father wanted me," said Hugh. "I could not help it, Fleda."

"You are not going to have the cruelty to take your a cousin away, Mr. Rossitur?" said the doctor.

But Fleda was for once happy to be cruel; she would hear no remonstrances. Though her desire for Miss Lucy's "help" had considerably lessened, she thought she could not in politeness avoid speaking on the subject, after being invited there on purpose. But Miss Lucy said she "calculated to stay at home this winter," unless she went to live with somebody at Kenton, for the purpose of attending a course of philosophy lectures that she heard were to be given there. So that matter was settled; and, clasping Hugh's arm, Fleda turned away from the house with a step and heart both lightened by the joy of being out of it.

"I coudn't come sooner, Fleda," said Hugh.

"No matter Oh, I'm so glad to be away! Walk a little faster, dear Hugh. Have you missed me at home?"

"Do you want me to say no or yes?" said Hugh, smiling. "We did very well mother and I and I have left everything ready to have tea the minute you get home. What sort of a time have you had?"

In answer to which Fleda gave him a long history, and then they walked on a while in silence. The evening was still, and would have been dark but for the extreme brilliancy of the stars through the keen, clear atmosphere. Fleda looked up at them, and drew large draughts of bodily and mental refreshment with the bracing air.

"Do you know to-morrow will be Thanksgiving-day?"

"Yes; what made you think of it?"

"They were talking about it; they make a great fuss here
Thanksgiving-day."

"I don't think we shall make much of a fuss," said Hugh.

"I don't think we shall. I wonder what I shall do I am afraid uncle Rolf will get tired of coffee and omelettes in the course of time; and my list of receipts is very limited."

"It is a pity you didn't beg one of Mrs. Renney's books," said
Hugh, laughing. "If you had only known "

" 'Tisn't too late!" said Fleda, quickly. "I'll send to New
York for one. I will! I'll ask uncle Orrin to get it for me.
That's the best thought!"

"But, Fleda, you're not going to turn cook in that fashion?"

"It would be no harm to have the book," said Fleda. "I can tell you, we mustn't expect to get anybody here that can make an omelette, or even coffee, that uncle Rolf will drink. Oh, Hugh! "

"What?"

"I don't know where we are going to get anybody! But don't say anything to aunt Lucy about it."

"Well, we can keep Thanksgiving-day, Fleda, without a dinner," said Hugh, cheerfully.

"Yes, indeed I am sure I can after being among these people to-night. How much I have that they want! Look at the Great Bear over there! Isn't that better than New York?"

"The Great Bear hangs over New York, too," Hugh said, with a smile.

"Ah! but it isn't the same thing. Heaven hasn't the same eyes for the city and the country."

As Hugh and Fleda went quick up to the kitchen-door, they overtook a dark figure, at whom looking narrowly as she passed, Fleda recognised Seth Plumfield. He was joyfully let into the kitchen, and there proved to be the bearer of a huge dish, carefully covered with a napkin.

"Mother guessed you hadn't any Thanksgiving ready," he said, "and she wanted to send this down to you; so I thought I would come and fetch it myself."

"Oh, thank her! and thank you, cousin Seth; how good you are!"

"Mother ha'n't lost her old trick at 'em," said he; "so I hope that's good."

"Oh, I know it is," said Fleda. "I remember aunt Miriam's Thanksgiving chicken-pies. Now, cousin Seth, you must come in, and see aunt Lucy."

"No," said he, quietly: "I've got my farm boots on. I guess I wont see anybody but you."

But Fleda would not suffer that; and finding she could not move him, she brought her aunt out into the kitchen. Mrs. Rossitur's manner of speaking, and thanking him, quite charmed Seth, and he went away with a kindly feeling towards those gentle, bright eves, which he never forgot.

"Now, we've something for to-morrow, Hugh !" said Fleda; "and such a chicken-pie, I can tell you, as you never saw. Hugh, isn't it odd, how different a thing is in different circumstances? You don't know how glad I was when I put my hands upon that warm pie-dish, and knew what it was; and when did I ever care in New York about Emile's doings?"

"Except the almond gauffres," said Hugh, smiling.

"I never thought to be so glad of a chicken-pie," said Fleda, shaking her head.

Aunt Miriam's dish bore out Fleda's praise, in the opinion of all that tasted it; for such fowls, such butter, and such cream, as went to its composition, could hardly be known but in an unsophisticated state of society. But one pie could not last for ever; and as soon as the signs of dinner were got rid of, Thanksgiving-day though it was, poor Fleda was fain to go up the hill, to consult aunt Miriam about the possibility of getting "help."

"I don't know, dear Fleda," said she; "if you cannot get Lucy Flinn, I don't know who else there is you can get. Mrs. Toles wants both her daughters at home, I know, this winter, because she is sick; and Marietta Winchel is working at aunt Syra's. I don't know do you remember Barby Elster, that used to live with me?"

"O yes!"

"She might go she has been staying at home these two years, to take care of her old mother, that's the reason she left me; but she has another sister come home now Hetty, that married, and went to Montepoole; she's lost her husband and come home to live; so perhaps Barby would go out again. But I don't know how do you think your aunt Lucy would get along with her?"

"Dear aunt Miriam, you know we must do as we can. We must have somebody."

"Barby is a little quick," said Mrs. Plumfield, "but I think she is good-hearted, and she is thorough and faithful as the day is long. If your aunt and uncle can put up with her ways."

"I am sure we can, aunt Miriam. Aunt Lucy's the easiest person in the world to please; and I'll try and keep her away from uncle Rolf. I think we can get along. I know Barby used to like me."

"But then Barby knows nothing about French cooking, my child; she can do nothing but the common, country things. What will your uncle and aunt say to that?"

"I don't know," said Fleda, "but anything is better than nothing. I must try and do what she can't do. I'll come up and get you to teach me, aunt Miriam."

Aunt Miriam hugged and kissed her before speaking.

"I'll teach you what I know, my darling: and now we'll go right off and see Barby we shall catch her just in a good time."

It was a poor little unpainted house, standing back from the road, and with a double row of' boards laid down to serve as a path to it. But this board walk was scrubbed perfectly clean. They went in without knocking. There was nobody there but an old woman seated before the fire, shaking all over with the St. Vitus's Dance. She gave them no salutation, calling instead on "Barby!" who presently made her appearance from the inner door.

"Barby! who's this?"

"That's Mis' Plumfield, mother," said the daughter, speaking loud as to a deaf person.

The old lady immediately got up and dropped a very quick and what was meant to be a very respect-showing courtesy, saying at the same time, with much deference, and with one of her involuntary twitches, "I ' 'maun ' to know!" The sense of the ludicrous and the feeling of pity together, were painfully oppressive. Fleda turned away to the daughter, who came forward and shook hands with a frank look of pleasure at the sight of her elder visitor.

"Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, "this is little Fleda Ringgan do you remember her?"

"I 'mind to know!" said Barby, transferring her hand to Fleda's, and giving it a good squeeze. "She's growed a fine gal, Mis' Plumfield. You ha'n't lost none of your good looks - ha' you kept all your old goodness along with 'em?"

Fleda laughed at this abrupt question, and said she didn't know.

"If you ha'n't, I wouldn't give much for your eyes," said
Barby, letting go her hand.

Mrs. Plumfield laughed too at Barby's equivocal mode of complimenting.

"Who's that young gal, Barby?" inquired Mrs. Elster.

"That's Mis' Plumfield's niece, mother."

"She's a handsome little creetur, aint she?"

They all laughed at that, and Fleda's cheeks growing crimson, Mrs. Plumfield stepped forward to ask after the old lady's health; and while she talked and listened, Fleda's eyes noted the spotless condition of the room the white table, the nice rag-carpet, the bright many-coloured patchwork counterpane on the bed, the brilliant cleanliness of the floor, where the small carpet left the boards bare, the tidy look of the two women; and she made up her mind that she could get along with Miss Barbara very well. Barby was rather tall, and in face decidedly a fine-looking woman, though her figure had the usual scantling proportions which nature or fashion assigns to the hard-working dwellers in the country. A handsome, quick, gray eye, and the mouth, were sufficiently expressive of character, and perhaps of temper, but there were no lines of anything sinister or surly; you could imagine a flash, but not a cloud.

"Barby, you are not tied at home any longer, are you?" said. Mrs. Plumfield, coming back from the old lady and speaking rather low; "now that Hetty is here, can't your mother spare you?"

"Well, I reckon she could, Mis' Plumfield, if I could work it so that she'd be more comfortable by my being away."

"Then you'd have no objection to go out again?"

"Where to?"

"Fleda's uncle, you know, has taken my brother's old place, and they have no help. They want somebody to take the whole management just you, Barby. Mrs. Rossitur isn't strong."

"Nor don't want to be, does she? I've heerd tell of her, Mis' Plumfield I should despise to have as many legs and arms as other folks, and not be able to help myself!"

"But you wouldn't despise to help other folks, I hope," said
Mrs. Plumfield, smiling.

"People that want you very much, too," said Fleda; for she quite longed to have that strong hand and healthy eye to rely upon at home. Barby looked at her with a relaxed face, and, after a little consideration, said she guessed "she'd try."

"Mis' Plumfield," cried the old lady, as they were moving
"Mis' Plumfield, you said you'd send me a piece of pork."

"I haven't forgotten it, Mrs. Elster you shall have it."

"Well, you get it out for me yourself," said the old woman, speaking very energetically "don't you send no one else to the barrel for't, because I know you'll give me the biggest piece."

Mrs. Plumfield laughed and promised.

"I'll come up and work it out some odd day," said the daughter, nodding intelligently, as she followed them to the door.

"We'll talk about that," said Mrs. Plumfield.

"She was wonderful pleased with the pie," said Barby, "and so was Hetty; she ha'n't seen anything so good, she says, since she quit Queechy."

"Well, Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, as she turned and grasped her hand, "did you remember your thanksgiving over it?"

"Yes, Mis' Plumfield," and the fine grey eyes fell to the floor; "but I minded it only because it had come from you. I seemed to hear you saying just that out of every bone I picked."

"You minded my message," said the other, gently.

"Well, I don't mind the things I had ought to most," said Barby, in a subdued voice "never! 'cept mother I aint very apt to forget her."

Mrs. Plumfield saw a tell-tale glittering beneath the drooping eyelid. She added no more but a sympathetic strong squeeze of the hand she held, and turned to follow Fleda who had gone on ahead.

"Mis' Plumfield," said Barby, before they had reached the stile that led into the road, where Fleda was standing, "will I be sure of having the money regular down yonder? You know, I hadn't ought to go otherways, on account of mother."

"Yes, it will be sure," said Mrs. Plumfield, "and regular;" adding quietly, "I'll make it so."

There was a bond for the whole amount in aunt Miriam's eyes; and, quite satisfied, Barby went back to the house.

"Will she expect to come to our table, aunt Miriam'? said
Fleda, when they had walked a little way.

"No, she will not expect that; but Barby will want a different kind of managing from those Irish women of yours. She wont bear to be spoken to in a way that don't suit her notions of what she thinks she deserves; and perhaps your aunt and uncle will think her notions rather high I don't know."

"There is no difficulty with aunt Lucy," said Fleda; "and I guess I can manage uncle Rolf I'll try. I like her very much."

"Barby is very poor," said Mrs. Plumfield; "she has nothing but her own earnings to support herself and her old mother, and now, I suppose, her sister and her child; for Hetty is a poor thing never did much, and now I suppose does nothing."

"Are those Finns poor, aunt Miriam?"

"O no not at all they are very well off."

"So I thought they seemed to have plenty of everything, and silver spoons and all. But why then do they go out to work?"

"They are a little too fond of getting money, I expect," said aunt Miriam. "And they are a queer sort of people rather the mother is queer, and the children are queer they aint like other folks exactly never were."

"I am very glad we are to have Barby, instead of that Lucy Finn," said Fleda. "Oh, aunt Miriam! you can't think how much easier my heart feels."

"Poor child!" said aunt Miriam, looking at her. "But it isn't best, Fleda, to have things work too smooth in this world."

"No, I suppose not," said Fleda, sighing. "Isn't it very strange, aunt Miriam, that it should make people worse instead of better to have everything go pleasantly with them?"

"It is because they are apt then to be so full of the present, that they forget the care of the future."

"Yes, and forget there is anything better than the present, I suppose," said Fleda.

"So we mustn't fret at the ways our Father takes to keep us from hurting ourselves," said aunt Miriam, cheerfully.

"O no!" said Fleda, looking up brightly, in answer to the tender manner in which these words were spoken; "and I didn't mean that this is much of a trouble only I am very glad to think that somebody is coming to-morrow."

Aunt Miriam thought that gentle unfretful face could not stand in need of much discipline.

CHAPTER XXI.

"Wise men alway
Affyrme and say,
That best is for a man
Diligently,
For to apply,
The business that he can." MORE

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 unmistakable 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 of 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 amaze, 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 of 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; hut 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 fire-arms 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 wont 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 ate 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 possÉ 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 showing 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.

"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."

"Oh, 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, drily, "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 woodshed! 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.

"Aint much choice," said Barby. "It would puzzle anybody to spell much more out of it than pork and ham. There's plenty of them. I sha'n'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 wont 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?"

"Oh, 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. Oh, 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.

"O 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 oh, he didn't think Hugh was hurting himself, but he was; he showed 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 oh, 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 cottagers 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?"

"Oh, 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?"

"Oh, 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! Oh, 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 fullness, 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.