Nobody

"Philip, this is a very blind business! You may send me to this place, and I may do my best, and you may spend your money, – and at the end ofall, she may marry somebody else; or, which is quite on the cards, youmay get another fancy."

"Well," said he, "suppose it. No harm will be done. As I never had anyfancy whatever before, perhaps your second alternative is hardlylikely. The other I must risk, and you must watch against."

Mrs. Barclay shook her head, but the end was, she yielded.

CHAPTER XIX

NEWS

November had come. It was early in the month still; yet, as oftenhappens, the season was thoroughly defined already. Later, perhaps, some sweet relics or reminders of October would come in, or days of thesoberer charm which October's successor often brings; but just now, agrey sky and a brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it banishedall thought of such pleasant times. The day was dark and gloomy. So thefire which burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's house showedparticularly bright, and its warm reflections were exceedingly welcomeboth to the eye and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an openchimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; and I call the placethe kitchen, for really a large portion of the work of the kitchen wasdone there; however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, whichaccommodated most of the boilers and kettles in use, while the roomitself was used for all the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was onlyupon occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, economy in fuelforbidding that two fires should be all the while kept going.

In the sitting-room kitchen, then, this November afternoon, the wholefamily were assembled. The place was as nice as a pin, and as neat asif no work were ever done there. All the work of the day, indeed, wasover; and even Miss Charity had come to sit down with the rest, knitting in hand. They had all changed their dresses and put off theirbig aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and proper; only, it isneedless to say, with no attempt at a fashionable appearance. Theirgowns were calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the whiteaprons they all wore were not fine nor ornamented. Only the old lady, who did no housework any longer, was dressed in a stuff gown, and worean apron of black silk. Charity, as I said, was knitting; so was hergrandmother. Madge was making more linen collars. Lois sat by hergrandmother's chair, for the minute doing nothing.

"What do you expect to do for a bonnet, Lois?" Charity broke thesilence.

"Or I either?" put in Madge. "Or you yourself, Charity? We are all inthe same box."

"I wish our hats were!" said the elder sister.

"I have not thought much about it," Lois answered. "I suppose, ifnecessary, I shall wear my straw."

"Then you'll have nothing to wear in the summer! It's robbing Peter topay Paul."

"Well," said Lois, smiling, – "if Paul's turn comes first. I cannot lookso long ahead as next summer."

"It'll be here before you can turn round," said Charity, whose knittingneedles flew without her having any occasion to watch them. "And then, straw is cold in winter."

"I can tie a comforter over my ears."

"That would look poverty-stricken."

"I suppose," said Madge slowly, "that is what we are. It looks like it, just now."

"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'" Mrs. Armadale said.

"Yes, mother," said Charity; "but our cow died because she was tetheredcarelessly."

"And our hay failed because there was no rain," Madge added. "And ourapples gave out because they killed themselves with bearing last year."

"You forget, child, it is the Lord 'that giveth rain, both the formerand the latter, in his season.'"

"But he didn't give it, mother; that's what I'm talking about; neither the former nor the latter; though what that means, I'm sure Idon't know; we have it all the year round, most years."

"Then be contented if a year comes when he does not send it."

"Grandmother, it'll do for you to talk; but what are we girls going todo without bonnets?"

"Do without," said Lois archly, with the gleam of her eye and the archof her pretty brow which used now and then to bewitch poor TomCaruthers.

"We have hardly apples to make sauce of," Charity went on. "If it hadbeen a good year, we could have got our bonnets with our apples, nicely. Now, I don't see where they are to come from."

"Don't wish for what the Lord don't send, child," said Mrs. Armadale.

"O mother! that's a good deal to ask," cried Charity. "It's very wellfor you, sitting in your arm-chair all the year round; but we have toput our heads out; and for one, I'd rather have something on them.Lois, haven't you got anything to do, that you sit there with yourhands in your lap?"

"I am going to the post-office," said Lois, rising; "the train's in. Iheard the whistle."

The village street lay very empty, this brown November day; and so, toLois's fancy, lay the prospect of the winter. Even so; brown andlightless, with a chill nip in the air that dampened rather thanencouraged energy. She was young and cheery-tempered; but perhaps therewas a shimmer yet in her memory of the colours on the Isles of Shoals;at any rate the village street seemed dull to her and the dayforbidding. She walked fast, to stir her spirits. The country aroundShampuashuh is flat; never a hill or lofty object of any kind rose uponher horizon to suggest wider look-outs and higher standing-points thanher present footing gave her. The best she could see was a glimpse ofthe distant Connecticut, a little light blue thread afar off; and Icannot tell why, what she thought of when she saw it was Tom Caruthers.I suppose Tom was associated in her mind with any wider horizon thanShampuashuh street afforded. Anyhow, Mr. Caruthers' handsome face camebe fore her; and a little, a very little, breath of regret escaped her, because it was a face she would see no more. Yet why should she wish tosee it? she asked herself. Mr. Caruthers could be nothing to her; henever could be anything to her; for he knew not and cared not to knoweither the joys or the obligations of religion, in which Lois's wholelife was bound up. However, though he could be nothing to her, Lois hada woman's instinctive perception that she herself was, or had been, something to him; and that is an experience a simple girl does noteasily forget. She had a kindness for him, and she was pretty sure hehad more than a kindness for her, or would have had, if his sister hadlet him alone. Lois went back to her Appledore experiences, revolvingand studying them, and understanding them a little better now, shethought, than at the time. At the time she had not understood them atall. It was just as well! she said to herself. She could never havemarried him. But why did his friends not want him to marry her? She wasin the depths of this problem when she arrived at the post-office.

The post-office was in the further end of a grocery store, or rather astore of varieties, such as country villages find convenient. Frombehind a little lattice the grocer's boy handed her a letter, with theremark that she was in luck to-day. Lois recognized Mrs. Wishart'shand, and half questioned the assertion. What was this? a newinvitation? That cannot be, thought Lois; I was with her so long lastwinter, and now this summer again for weeks and weeks – And, anyhow, Icould not go if she asked me. I could not even get a bonnet to go in; and I could not afford the money for the journey.

She hoped it was not an invitation. It is hard to have the cup set toyour lips, if you are not to drink it; any cup; and a visit to Mrs.Wishart was a very sweet cup to Lois. The letter filled her thoughtsall the way home; and she took it to her own room at once, to have thepleasure, or the pain, mastered before she told of it to the rest ofthe family. But in a very few minutes Lois came flying down-stairs, with light in her eyes and a sudden colour in her cheeks.

"Girls, I've got some news for you!" she burst in.

Charity dropped her knitting in her lap. Madge, who was setting thetable for tea, stood still with a plate in her hand. All eyes were onLois.

"Don't say news never comes! We've got it to-day."

"What? Who is the letter from?" said Charity.

"The letter is from Mrs. Wishart, but that does not tell you anything."

"O, if it is from Mrs. Wishart, I suppose the news only concerns you,"said Madge, setting down her plate.

"Mistaken!" cried Lois. "It concerns us all. Madge, don't go off. It issuch a big piece of news that I do not know how to begin to give it toyou; it seems as if every side of it was too big to take hold of for ahandle. Mother, listen, for it concerns you specially."

"I hear, child." And Mrs. Armadale looked interested and curious.

"It's delightful to have you all looking like that," said Lois, "and toknow it's not for nothing. You'll look more 'like that' when I've toldyou – if ever I can begin."

"My dear, you are quite excited," said the old lady.

"Yes, grandmother, a little. It's so seldom that anything happens, here."

"The days are very good, when nothing happens. I think," said the oldlady softly.

"And now something has really happened – for once. Prick up your ears,

Charity! Ah, I see they are pricked up already," Lois went on merrily.

"Now listen. This letter is from Mrs. Wishart."

"She wants you again!" cried Madge.

"Nothing of the sort. She asks – "

"Why don't you read the letter?"