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"No," said Lois, rising, "I have not. Only sometimes one must look alittle carefully at the parting of the ways, to see which road one ismeant to take."
"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wantedto ask you something."
Lois sat down.
"I came to ask a favour."
"How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, nothing we could do could be afavour to you!"
"Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to come to see me."
"Well?"
"May he come?"
"Why, of course."
"But it is a gentleman."
"Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no objections to gentlemen."
"It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very long while; a dearfriend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has justreturned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way toBoston and spend Sunday with me."
"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make himcomfortable."
"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be atall inconvenient?"
"Not in the least."
"Then he may come?"
"Certainly. When does he wish to come?"
"This week – Saturday. His name is Dillwyn."
"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs.
Wishart's once or twice."
"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart.
So you remember him? What do you remember about him?"
"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and hasvery pleasant manners."
"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you."
Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into thehouse, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet.
"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are goingto have a visitor."
Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois.
"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips.
"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay overSunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And somust I."
"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?"
"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; atravelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay."
"What are we to do with him?"
"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, andcouldn't do it if we had."
"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him."
"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; and you may get out your pickles."
"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?"
"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he isa man who likes all sorts of nice things."
"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois! – there will be Saturdaytea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morningbreakfast."
"Perhaps Monday dinner."
"O, he can't stay to dinner."
"Why not?"
"It is washing day."
"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; andwashing is – well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, orit might be, for all they know about it."
"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on. – "Wouldn't it be a goodplan to get uncle Tim to be here?"
"What for?"
"Why, we haven't a man in the house."
"What then?"
"Who'll talk to him?"
"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to yourpickles."
"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are wegoing to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens."
"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wantedto ask you something."
Lois sat down.
"I came to ask a favour."
"How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, nothing we could do could be afavour to you!"
"Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to come to see me."
"Well?"
"May he come?"
"Why, of course."
"But it is a gentleman."
"Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no objections to gentlemen."
"It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very long while; a dearfriend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has justreturned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way toBoston and spend Sunday with me."
"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make himcomfortable."
"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be atall inconvenient?"
"Not in the least."
"Then he may come?"
"Certainly. When does he wish to come?"
"This week – Saturday. His name is Dillwyn."
"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs.
Wishart's once or twice."
"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart.
So you remember him? What do you remember about him?"
"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and hasvery pleasant manners."
"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you."
Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into thehouse, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet.
"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are goingto have a visitor."
Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois.
"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips.
"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay overSunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And somust I."
"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?"
"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; atravelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay."
"What are we to do with him?"
"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, andcouldn't do it if we had."
"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him."
"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; and you may get out your pickles."
"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?"
"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he isa man who likes all sorts of nice things."
"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois! – there will be Saturdaytea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morningbreakfast."
"Perhaps Monday dinner."
"O, he can't stay to dinner."
"Why not?"
"It is washing day."
"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; andwashing is – well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, orit might be, for all they know about it."
"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on. – "Wouldn't it be a goodplan to get uncle Tim to be here?"
"What for?"
"Why, we haven't a man in the house."
"What then?"
"Who'll talk to him?"
"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to yourpickles."
"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are wegoing to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens."
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