Nobody

"My dear, you do not know what you are talking of. Life is in itsspring with you."

"But I know the King's promise," said Lois.

"How do you know it?"

"I have tried it."

"But you have never had any occasion to try it, you heart-soundcreature!" said Mrs. Barclay, with again a caressing, admiring touch ofLois's brow.

"O, but indeed I have. Not in need like yours – I have never touchedthat– I never felt like that; but in other need, as great and asterrible. And I know, and everybody else who has ever tried knows, thatthe Lord keeps his word."

"How have you tried?" Mrs. Barclay asked abstractedly.

"I needed the forgiveness of sin," said Lois, letting her voice fall alittle, "and deliverance from it."

"You!" said Mrs. Barclay.

"I was as unhappy as anybody could be till I got it."

"When was that?"

"Four years ago."

"Are you much different now from what you were before?"

"Entirely."

"I cannot imagine you in need of forgiveness. What had you done?"

"I had done nothing whatever that I ought to have done. I loved onlymyself, – I mean first, – and lived only to myself and my own pleasure, and did my own will."

"Whose will do you now? your grandmother's?"

"Not grandmother's first. I do God's will, as far as I know it."

"And therefore you think you are forgiven?"

"I don't think, I know," said Lois, with a quick breath. "And it isnot 'therefore' at all; it is because I am covered, or my sin is, withthe blood of Christ. And I love him; and he makes me happy."

"It is easy to make you happy, dear. To me there is nothing left in theworld, nor the possibility of anything. That wind is singing a dirge inmy ears; and it sweeps over a desert. A desert where nothing green willgrow any more!"

The words were spoken very calmly; there was no emotion visible thateither threatened or promised tears; a dull, matter-of-fact, perfectlyclear and quiet utterance, that almost broke Lois's heart. The waterthat was denied to the other eyes sprang to her own.

"It was in the wilderness that the people were fed with manna," shesaid, with a great gush of feeling in both heart and voice. "It waswhen they were starving and had no food, just then, that they got thebread from heaven."

"Manna does not fall now-a-days," said Mrs. Barclay with a faint smile.

"O yes, it does! There is your mistake, because you do not know. Itdoes come. Look here, Mrs. Barclay – "

She sprang up, went for a Bible which lay on one of the tables, and, dropping on her knees again by Mrs. Barclay's side, showed her an openpage.

"Look here – 'I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall neverhunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst… This is thebread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof and notdie.' Not die of weariness, nor of anything else."

Mrs. Barclay did look with a little curiosity at the words Lois heldbefore her, but then she put down the book and took the girl in herarms, holding her close and laying her own head on Lois's shoulder.Whether the words had moved her, Lois could not tell, or whether it wasthe power of her own affection and sympathy; Mrs. Barclay did notspeak, and Lois did not dare add another word. They were still, wrappedin each other's arms, and one or two of Lois's tears wet the otherwoman's cheek; and there was no movement made by either of them; untilthe door was suddenly opened and they sprang apart.

"Here's Mr. Midgin," announced the voice of Miss Charity. "Shall hecome in? or ain't there time? Of all things, why can't folks chooseconvenient times for doin' what they have to do! It passes me. It'sbecause it's a sinful world, I suppose. But what shall I tell him? togo about his business, and come New Year's, or next Fourth of July?"

"You do not want to see him now?" said Lois hastily. But Mrs. Barclayroused herself, and begged that he might come in. "It is the carpenter,I suppose," said she.

Mr. Midgin was a tall, loose-jointed, large-featured man, with anundecided cast of countenance, and slow movements; which fitted oddlyto his big frame and powerful muscles. He wore his working suit, whichhung about him in a flabby way, and entered Mrs. Barclay's room withhis hat on. Hat and all, his head made a little jerk of salutation tothe lady.

"Good arternoon!" said he. "Sun'thin' I kin do here?"

"Yes, Mr. Midgin – I left word for you three days ago," said Lois.

"Jest so. I heerd. And here I be. Wall, I never see a room with so manybooks in it! Lois, you must be like a cow in clover, if you're half asfond of 'em as I be."

"You are fond of reading, Mr. Midgin?" said Mrs. Barclay.

"Wall, I think so. But what's in 'em all?" He came a step further intothe room and picked up a volume from the table. Mrs. Barclay watchedhim. He opened the book, and stood still, eagerly scanning the page, for a minute or two.

"'Lamps of Architectur'," said he, looking then at thetitle-page; – "that's beyond me. The only lamps of architectur that I ever see, in Shampuashuh anyway, is them that stands up at the depot,by the railroad; but here's 'truth,' and 'sacrifice,' and I don' knowwhat all; 'hope' and 'love,' I expect. Wall, them's good lamps to lightup anythin' by; only I don't make out whatever they kin have to do withbuildin's." He picked up an other volume.

"What's this?" said he. "'Tain't my native tongue. What do ye callit, Lois?"

"That is French, Mr. Midgin."

"That's French, eh?" said he, turning over the leaves. "I want to know!

Don't look as though there was any sense in it. What is it about, now?"

"It is a story of a man who was king of Rome a great while ago."

"King o' Rome! What was his name? Not Romulus and Remus, I s'pose?"

"No; but he came just after Romulus."

"Did, hey? Then you s'pose there ever was sich a man as Romulus?"

"Probably," Mrs. Barclay now said. "When a story gets form and lives, there is generally some thing of fact to serve as foundation for it."

"You think that?" said the carpenter. "Wall, I kin tell you storiesthat had form enough and life enough in 'em, to do a good deal o' work; and that yet grew up out o' nothin' but smoke. There was GovernorDenver; he was governor o' this state for quite a spell; and he was aShampuashuh man, so we all knew him and thought lots o' him. He was sotagainst drinking. Mebbe you don't think there's no harm in wine and thelike?"

"I have not been accustomed to think there was any harm in itcertainly, unless taken immoderately."

"Ay, but how're you goin' to fix what's moderately? there's the pinch.What's a gallon for me's only a pint for you. Wall, Governor Denverdidn't believe in havin' nothin' to do with the blamed stuff; and hehad taken the pledge agin it, and he was known for an out and outtemperance man; teetotal was the word with him. Wall, his daughter wasmarried, over here at New Haven; and they had a grand weddin', and agood many o' the folks was like you, they thought there was no harm init, if one kept inside the pint, you know; and there was enough foreverybody to hev had his gallon. And then they said the Governor hadtaken his glass to his daughter's health, or something like that. Wall, all Shampuashuh was talkin' about it, and Governor Denver's friends washangin' their heads, and didn't know what to say; for whatever a manthinks, – and thoughts is free, – he's bound to stand to what he says,and particularly if he has taken his oath upon it. So Governor Denver'sfriends was as worried as a steam-vessel in a fog, when she can't hearthe 'larm bells; and one said this and t'other said that. And at last Icouldn't stand it no longer; and I writ him a letter – to the Governor; and says I, 'Governor,' says I, 'did you drink wine at your daughterLottie's weddin' at New Haven last month?' And if you'll believe me, hewrit me back, 'Jonathan Midgin, Esq. Dear sir, I was in New York theday you mention, shakin' with chills and fever, and never got toLottie's weddin' at all.' – What do you think o' that? Overturns yourtheory a leetle, don't it? Warn't no sort o' foundation for that story; and yet it did go round, and folks said it was so."

"It is a strong story for your side, Mr. Midgin, undoubtedly."