Nobody

"Who lives there?"

"It is a New England village, and you know what those are. Broad grassystreets, and shadowy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the sea notfar off. Quiet, and good air, and people with their intelligence alive.There is even a library."

"And among these comfortable inhabitants, who would want to be troubledwith me?"

"I think I know. I think I know just the house, where your coming wouldbe a boon. They are not very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I aminclined to believe they would be glad to have you."

"Who are they?"

"A household of women. The father and mother are dead; the grandmotheris there yet, and there are three daughters. They are relations of anold friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in the city. So I knowsomething about them."

"Not the people themselves?"

"Yes, I know the people, – so far as one specimen goes. I fancy they arepeople you could get along with."

Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at the young man. His facerevealed nothing, more than a friendly solicitude. But he caught thelook, and broke out suddenly with a change of subject.

"How do you women get along without cigars? What is your substitute?"

"What does the cigar, to you, represent?"

"Soothing and comforting of the nerves – aids to thought – powerful helpsto good humour – something to do – "

"There! now you have it. Philip you are talking nonsense. Your nervesare as steady and sound as a granite mountain; you can think withouthelp of any extraneous kind; your good-humour is quite as fair as mostpeople's; but – you do want something to do! I cannot bear to have youwaste your life in smoke, be it never so fragrant."

"What would you have me do?"

"Anything! so you were hard at work, and doing work."

"There is nothing for me to do."

"That cannot be," said she, shaking her head.

"Propose something."

"You have no need to work for yourself," she said; "so it must be forother people. Say politics."

"If ever there was anything carried on purely for selfish interests, itis the business you name."

"The more need for some men to go into it not for self, but for thecountry."

"It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get drawn in. And it is a dirtybusiness. You know the proverb about touching pitch."

"It need not be so, Philip."

"It brings one into disgusting contact and associations. My cigar isbetter."

"It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. And, Philip, it helpsthis habit of careless letting everything go, which you have got into."

"I take care of myself, and of my money," he said.

"Men ought to live for more than to take care of themselves."

"I was just trying to take care of somebody else, and you head me off!You should encourage a fellow better. One must make a beginning. And Iwould like to be of use to somebody, if I could."

"Go on," she said, with her faint smile again. "How do you propose that

I shall meet the increased expenditures of your Connecticut paradise?"

"You would like it?" he said eagerly.

"I cannot tell. But if the people are as pleasant as the place – itwould be a paradise. Still, I cannot afford to live in paradise, I amafraid."

"You have only heard half my plan. It will cost you nothing. You haveheard only what you are to get – not what you are to give."

"Let me hear. What am I to give?"

"The benefits of your knowledge of the world, and knowledge ofliterature, and knowledge of languages, to two persons who need and arewith out them all."

"'Two persons.' What sort of persons?"

"Two of the daughters I spoke of."

Mrs. Barclay was silent a minute, looking at him.

"Whose plan is this?"

"Your humble servant's. As I said, one must make a beginning; and thisis my beginning of an attempt to do good in the world."

"How old are these two persons?"

"One of them, about eighteen, I judge. The other, a year or two older."

"And they wish for such instruction?"

"I believe they would welcome it. But they know nothing about theplan – and must not know," he added very distinctly, meeting Mrs.Barclay's eyes with praiseworthy steadiness.

"What makes you think they would be willing to pay for my services, then? Or, indeed, how could they do it?"

"They are not to do it. They are to know nothing whatever about it.They are not able to pay for any such advantages. Here comes in thebenevolence of my plan. You are to do it for me, and I am to pay theworth of the work; which I will do to the full. It will much more thanmeet the cost of your stay in the house. You can lay up money," hesaid, smiling.

"Phil," said Mrs. Barclay, "what is behind this very odd scheme?"

"I do not know that anything – beyond the good done to two young girls, and the good done to you."

"It is not that," she said. "This plan never originated in your regardfor my welfare solely."

"No. I had an eye to theirs also."