Nobody

Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked alittle sparkle of amusement.

"Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea to play? Or to sing?"

"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate."

"Which is she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am Ito know the person in whom I am to be interested?"

"By the interest."

"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very madscheme, Philip – a very mad scheme! Here you have got me – who ought tobe wiser – into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do notapprove of romance, and not at all of making it."

"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke ofthe bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am.Good-bye! Write me, won't you?"

The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell tomeditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely mistyand doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, northe means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going tobe his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly becauseshe liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of herhusband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such temptingadvantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that ifPhilip could not get her help he was more than likely to find someother which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thoughtthat her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, shewould undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she hadundertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn hadbeen taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained witenough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brainscannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and hermission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, one thing was certain – Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing thatdemands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or getup a fancy for some one else. Time was everything.

So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of herjourney, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing ofthe country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After theSound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields andvillages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing speciallypicturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts thatled her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and thereason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow – "Here's yourplace, ma'am – Shampuashuh."

Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took herbag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun wasalready down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with along platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, greencountry. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their wayhomewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waitingfor the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find somerailway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; awoman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip.

"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have comeafter you."

"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?"

"You are going to the Lothrops' house, ain't you? I thought so. It'sall right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'emI'd come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins wouldn't be here.Is that your trunk? – Mr. Lifton, won't you have the goodness to getthis into my buggy? it's round at the other side. Now, will you come?"

This last to Mrs. Barclay. And, following her new friend, she and herbaggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and theowner of it got into her place and drove off.

The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes whichimpress one immediately with this feature in their character. A widegrassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice oftracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and eleganceto the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on bothsides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool freshair, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness – stillness thattold of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for theplace involuntarily.

"They're lookin' for you," the driving lady began.

"Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day."

"They'll do all they can to make you comfortable; and if there'sanything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything thatcan be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and thegirls never took in a lodger before. But they'll do what they can."

"I hope I shall not be very exacting."

"Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to know it. That is! – we don'thave much of the high-flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castletown, and I'm quite willin' they should; but in summer we have quite asprinklin' of people that want country and the sea; and they most of'em stay right along, from the beginning of the season to the end ofit. We don't often have 'em come in November, though."

"I suppose not."

"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "I thinkthey're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have itvery cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we havehere is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and hiseyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there'ssomethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down inFlorida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me Iwouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see thesnow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here weare. Mr. Starks!" – addressing a man who was going along the sideway – "hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down – won't you bear ahand?"

This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting theheavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs toits destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclaydescended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat.

"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in – you'll find somebody, and they'lltake care of you."

Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yardsto the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with aporch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in thedoorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with agrave, sweet, innocent charm, and a manner which surprised the lady.Mrs. Barclay looked, in a sort of fascination.

"We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. "It is Mrs. Barclay, Isuppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I willshow you right up to your room."

"Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who are you?"

"I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about you. Now, here is your room; and here is your trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks. – What can I do for you?Tea will be ready presently."

"You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought I not to pay him for histrouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks.

"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He isvery well off indeed; has a farm of his own, and makes it valuable."

"He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. Is it a generalcharacteristic of Shampuashuh?"

"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, Iwill show you your other room."

Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. Theroom was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies andold-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place waspleasant. But the girl! – O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, haveyou lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I canunderstand it; but what will come of it!

Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged forher sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeousdrawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintzcurtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a huewhich did not clash violently with the hue of the draperies; plain, dark furniture; and a blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed,

"Delightful! O, delightful! Is this my room, did you say? It is quitecharming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?"

"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Loissimply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sistersare afraid you will not like our country way of living."

"Are you the housekeeper?"

"No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again; "I am the gardener andthe out-of-doors woman generally; the man of business of the house."

"That is a rather hard place for a woman to fill, sometimes."

"It is easy here, and where people have so little out-of-door businessas we have."

She arranged the fire and shut the shutters of the windows; Mrs.Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a prettyfigure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quietself-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And theface, – but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It wasnot the fair features; they were fair, but she had seen others asfair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had neverseen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connectionwith shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, which had nothing to do with external position or internalconsciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of achild, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mentalpower. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, thedress and the apron were of a style – well, of no style; the plainestattire of a plain country girl.

"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like tocome out at once, and see the rest of the family?"

"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Loisopened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of thefamily. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair.

"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up.

"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you."

Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyedthe room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, andvarious little tokens of domestic occupation.

"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!"

"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "butthat room has only a grate."

"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the newguest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire."

"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says."