Nobody

"Ain't it! La! bless you, there's nothin' you kin be sartain of in thisworld. I don't believe in no Romulus and his wolf. Half o' all thesebooks, now, I have no doubt, tells lies; and the other half, you don'know which 'tis."

"I cannot throw them away however, just yet; and so, Mr. Midgin, I wantsome shelves to keep them off the floor."

"I should say you jest did! Where'll you put 'em?"

"The shelves? All along that side of the room, I think. And about sixfeet high."

"That'll hold 'em," said Mr. Midgin, as he applied his measuring rule.

"Jest shelves? or do you want a bookcase fixed up all reg'lar?"

"Just shelves. That is the prettiest bookcase, to my thinking."

"That's as folks looks at it," said Mr. Midgin, who apparently was of adifferent opinion. "What'll they be? Mahogany, or walnut, or cherry, ormaple, or pine? You kin stain 'em any colour. One thing's handsome, andanother thing's cheap; and I don' know yet whether you want 'em cheapor handsome."

"Want 'em both, Mr. Midgin," said Lois.

"H'm! – Well – maybe there's folks that knows how to combine bothadvantages – but I'm afeard I ain't one of 'em. Nothin' that's cheap'shandsome, to my way o' thinkin'. You don't make much count o' cheapthings here anyhow," said he, surveying the room. And then he beganhis measurements, going round the sides of the apartment to apply hisrule to all the plain spaces; and Mrs. Barclay noticed how tenderly hehandled the books which he had to move out of his way. Now and then hestopped to open one, and stood a minute or two peering into it. Allthis while his hat was on.

"Should like to read that," he remarked, with a volume of Macaulay'sEssays in his hands. "That's well written. But a man can't read all theworld," he went on, as he laid it out of his hands again. "'Much studyis a weariness to the flesh.' Arter all, I don't suppose a man'd be nowiser if he'd read all you've got here. The biggest fool I ever knowed, was the man that had read the most."

"How did he show his folly?" Mrs. Barclay asked.

"Wall, it's a story. Lois knows. He was dreadfully sot on a littlegrandchild he had; his chil'n was all dead, and he had jest this oneleft; she was a little girl. And he never left her out o' his sight, nor she him; until one day he had to go to Boston for some business; and he couldn't take her; and he said he knowed some harm'd come. Doyou believe in presentiments."

"Sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay.

"How should a man have presentiments o' what's comin'?"

"I cannot answer that."

"No, nor nobody else. It ain't reason. I believe the presentimentsmakes the things come."

"Was that the case in this instance?"

"Wall, I don't see how it could. When he come back from Boston, thelittle girl was dead; but she was as well as ever when he went away.Ain't that curious?"

"Certainly; if it is true."

"I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth. The hull town knows it. 'Tain'tno secret. 'Twas old Mr. Roderick, you know, Lois; lived up yonder onthe road to the ferry. And after he come back from the funeral he shuthimself up in the room where his grandchild had been – and nobody eversee him no more from that day, 'thout 'twas the folks in the house; andthere warn't many o' them; but he never went out. An' he never went outfor seven years; and at the end o' seven years he had to – there wasmoney in it – and folks that won't mind nothin' else, they minds Mammon, you know; so he went out. An' as soon as he was out o' the house, hiswomen-folks, they made a rush for his room, fur to clean it; for, ifyou'll believe me, it hadn't been cleaned all those years; and I expect'twas in a condition; but the women likes nothin' better; and as theyopened some door or other, of a closet or that, out runs a little whitemouse, and it run clear off; they couldn't catch it any way, and theytried every way. It was gone, and they were scared, for they knowed theold gentleman's ways. It wasn't a closet either it was in, but somepiece o' furniture; I'm blessed ef I can remember what they called it.The mouse was gone, and the women-folks was scared; and to be sure, when Mr. Roderick come home he went as straight as a line to that theredoor where the mouse was; and they say he made a terrible rumpus whenhe couldn't find it; but arter that the spell was broke, like; and helived pretty much as other folks. Did you say six feet?"

"That will be high enough. And you may leave a space of eight or tenfeet on that side, from window to window."

"Thout any?"

"Yes."

"That'll be kind o' lop-sided, won't it? I allays likes to see thingssamely. What'll you do with all that space of emptiness? It'll lookawful bare."

"I will put something else there. What do you suppose the white mousehad to do with your old gentleman's seclusion?"

"Seclusion? Livin' shut up, you mean? Why, don't ye see, he believedthe mouse was the sperrit o' the child – leastways the sperrit o' thechild was in it. You see, when he got back from the funeral the firstthing his eyes lit upon was that ere white mouse; and it was white, yousee, and that ain't a common colour for a mouse; and it got into hishead, and couldn't get out, that that was Ella's sperrit. It mought ha'ben, for all I can say; but arter that day, it was gone."

"You think the child's spirit might have been in the mouse?"

"Who knows? I never say nothin' I don't know, nor deny nothin' I du know; ain't that a good principle?"

"But you know better than that, Mr. Midgin," said Lois.

"Wall, I don't! Maybe you do, Lois; but accordin' to my lights Idon't know. You'll hev 'em walnut, won't you? that'll look more likefurniture."

"Are you coming? The waggon's here, Lois," said Madge, opening thedoor. "Is Mrs. Barclay ready?"

"Will be in two minutes," replied that lady. "Yes, Mr. Midgin, let thembe walnut; and good evening! Yes, Lois, I am quite roused up now, and Iwill go with you. I will walk, dear; I prefer it."

CHAPTER XXV

ROAST PIG

Mrs. Barclay seemed to have entirely regained her usual composure andeven her usual spirits, which indeed were never high. She said sheenjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in company, Madge having gonewith her grandmother and Charity in Mrs. Marx's waggon. The winterevening was falling grey, and the grey was growing dark; and there wassomething in the dusky stillness, and soft, half-defined lines of thelandscape, with the sharp, crisp air, which suited the mood of bothladies. The stars were not visible yet; the western horizon had still aglow left from the sunset; and houses and trees stood like dark solemnghosts along the way before the end of the walk was reached. Theytalked hardly at all, but Mrs. Barclay said when she got to Mrs.Marx's, that the walk had been delightful.

At Mrs. Marx's all was in holiday perfection of order; though that wasthe normal condition of things, indeed, where that lady ruled. Thepaint of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets were thick andbright; the table was set with great care; the great chimney in theupper kitchen where the supper was prepared, was magnificent with itsblazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best parlour, where theguests were first received; but supper was ready, and they adjourned tothe next room. There the table invited them most hospitably, loadedwith dainties such as people in the country can get at Christmas time.One item of the entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a roastpig; its brown and glossy back making a very conspicuous object at oneside of the board.

"I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the satisfied hostess; forshe knew the pig was done to a turn; "and anything you don't expecttastes twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n anything; and Ithink myself it's about the top sheaf. I suppose nothin' can be asurprise to Mrs. Barclay."

"Why do you suppose so?" asked that lady.

"I thought you'd seen everything there was in the world, and a littlemore."

"Never saw a roast pig before in my life. But I have read of them."

"Read of them!" exclaimed their hostess. "In a cook-book, likely?"

"Alas! I never read a cook-book."

"No more didn't I; but you'll excuse me, I didn't believe you carriedit all in your head, like we folks."

"I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean the art of cookery. Ihave a profound respect for it; but I know nothing about it whatever."

"Well, you're right to have a respect for it. Uncle Tim, do you justgive Mrs. Barclay some of the best of that pig, and let us see how shelikes it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; and plenty of thecrackle. Mother, it's done just as you used to do it."

Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. Mrs. Armadale sat at theend of the table; placid and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclayher aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did not smile much, yet shelooked kindly over her assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother;Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent New England mingling of theshrewd and the benevolent in his face; and he was a much more jollypersonage than his sister; younger than she, too, and still vigorous.Unlike her, also, he was a handsome man; had been very handsome in hisyoung days; and, as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over the table, shethought few could show a better assemblage of comeliness than wasgathered round this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in herwell-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain brown stuff seemresplendent; she had a little fleecy white woollen shawl wound abouther shoulders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes away fromthe girl. And if the other members of the party were less beautiful infeature, they had every one of them in a high degree the stamp ofintellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay speculated upon the strangesociety in which she found herself; upon the odd significance of herbeing there; and on the possible outcome, weighty and incalculable, ofthe connection of the two things. So intently that she almost forgotwhat she was eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's suddenquestion – "Well, how do you like it? Charity, give Mrs. Barclay somepickles – what she likes; there's sweet pickle, that's peaches; andsharp pickle, that's red cabbage; and I don' know which of 'em shelikes best; and give her some apple – have you got any apple sauce, Mrs.Barclay?"

"Thank you, everything; and everything is delicious."

"That's how things are gen'ally, in Mrs. Marx's hands," remarked uncle

Tim. "There ain't her beat for sweets and sours in all the country."