Nobody

"She did not suffer much. It is not that. I am so glad to think she hasgot home!"

"I suppose," said Mrs. Barclay in a constrained voice, "to such aperson as your grandmother, death has no fear. Yet life seems to memore desirable."

"She has entered into life!" said Lois. "She is where she wanted to be, and with what she loved best. And I am very, very glad! even though Ido cry."

"How can you speak with such certain'ty, Lois? I know, in such a caseas that of your grandmother, there could be no fear; and yet I do notsee how you can speak as if you knew where she is, and with whom."

"Only because the Bible tells us," said Lois, smiling even through weteyes. "Not the place; it does not tell us the place; but with Christ.That they are; and that is all we want to know.

'Beyond the sighing and the weeping.'

– It makes me gladder than ever I can tell you, to think of it."

"Then what are those tears for, my dear?"

"It's the turning over a leaf," said Lois sadly, "and that is alwayssorrowful. And I have lost – uncle Tim says," she broke off suddenly,"he says, – can it be? – he says you say you must go from us in thespring?"

"That is turning over another leaf," said Mrs. Barclay.

"But is it true?"

"Absolutely true. Circumstances make it imperative. It is not my wish.

I would like to stay here with you all my life."

"I wish you could. I half hoped you would," said Lois wistfully.

"But I cannot, my dear. I cannot."

"Then that is another thing over," said Lois. "What a good time it hasbeen, this year and a half you have been with us! how much worth toMadge and me! But won't you come back again?"

"I fear not. You will not miss me so much; you will all keep housetogether, Mr. Hotchkiss tells me."

"I shall not be here," said Lois.

"Where will you be?" Mrs. Barclay started.

"I don't know; but it will be best for me to do something to helpalong. I think I shall take a school somewhere. I think I can get one."

"A school, my dear? Why should you do such a thing?"

"To help along," said Lois. "You know, we have not much to live on hereat home. I should make one less here, and I should be earning a littlebesides."

"Very little, Lois!"

"Very little will do."

"But you do a great deal now towards the family support. What willbecome of your garden?"

"Uncle Tim can take care of that. Besides, Mrs. Barclay, even if Icould stay at home, I think I ought not. I ought to be doingsomething – be of some use in the world. I am not needed here, now deargrandmother is gone; and there must be some other place where I amneeded."

"My dear, somebody will want you to keep house for him, some of thesedays."

Lois shook her head. "I do not think of it," she said. "I do not thinkit is very likely; that is, anybody I should want. But if it weretrue," she added, looking up and smiling, "that has nothing to do withpresent duty."

"My dear, I cannot bear to think of your going into such drudgery!"

"Drudgery?" said Lois. "I do not know, – perhaps I should not find itso. But I may as well do it as somebody else."

"You are fit for something better."

"There is nothing better, and there is nothing happier," said Lois, rising, "than to do what God gives us to do. I should not be unhappy,Mrs. Barclay. It wouldn't be just like these days we have passedtogether, I suppose; – these days have been a garden of flowers."

And what have they all amounted to? thought Mrs. Barclay when she wasleft alone. Have I done any good – or only harm – by acceding to that madproposition of Philip's? Some good, surely; these two girls have grownand changed, mentally, at a great rate of progress; they are educated, cultivated, informed, refined, to a degree that I would never havethought a year and a half could do. Even so! have I done them good?They are lifted quite out of the level of their surroundings; and to belifted so, means sometimes a barren living alone. Yet I will not thinkthat; it is better to rise in the scale of being, if ever one can, whatever comes of it; what one is in oneself is of more importance thanone's relations to the world around. But Philip? – I have helped himnourish this fancy – and it is not a fancy now – it is the man's wholelife. Heigh ho! I begin to think he was right, and that it is verydifficult to know what is doing good and what isn't. I must write toPhilip —

So she did, at once. She told him of the contemplated changes in thefamily arrangements; of Lois's plan for teaching a district school; anddeclared that she herself must now leave Shampuashuh. She had done whatshe came for, whether for good or for ill. It was done; and she couldno longer continue living there on Mr. Dillwyn's bounty. Now it wouldbe mere bounty, if she stayed where she was; until now she might sayshe had been doing his work. His work was done now, her part of it; therest he must finish for himself. Mrs. Barclay would leave Shampuashuhin April.

This letter would bring matters to a point, she thought, if anythingcould; she much expected to see Mr. Dillwyn himself appear again beforeMarch was over. He did not come, however; he wrote a short answer toMrs. Barclay, saying that he was sorry for her resolve, and wouldcombat it if he could; but felt that he had not the power. She mustsatisfy her fastidious notions of independence, and he could only thankher to the last day of his life for what she had already done for him; service which thanks could never repay. He sent this letter, but saidnothing of coming; and he did not come.

Later, Mrs. Barclay wrote again. The household changes were just aboutto be made; she herself had but a week or two more in Shampuashuh; andLois, against all expectation, had found opportunity immediately to tryher vocation for teaching. The lady placed over a school in a remotelittle village had suddenly died; and the trustees of the school hadconsidered favourably Lois's application. She was going in a day or twoto undertake the charge of a score or two of boys and girls, of allages, in a wild and rough part of the country; where even theaccommodations for her own personal comfort, Mrs. Barclay feared, wouldbe of the plainest.

To this letter also she received an answer, though after a littleinterval. Mr. Dillwyn wrote, he regretted Lois's determination; regretted that she thought it necessary; but appreciated thestraightforward, unflinching sense of duty which never consulted withease or selfishness. He himself was going, he added, on business, for atime, to the north; that is, not Massachusetts, but Canada. He wouldtherefore not see Mrs. Barclay until after a considerable interval.

Mrs. Barclay did not know what to make of this letter. Had Philip givenup his fancy? It was not like him. Men are fickle, it is true; butfickle in his friendships she had never known Mr. Dillwyn to be. Yetthis letter said nothing of love, or hope, or fear; it was cool, friendly, business-like. Mrs. Barclay nevertheless did not know how tobelieve in the business. He have business! What business? She hadalways known him as an easy, graceful, pleasure-taker; finding hispleasure in no evil ways, indeed; kept from that by early associations,or by his own refined tastes and sense of honour; but never living toanything but pleasure. His property was ample and unencumbered; eventhe care of that was not difficult, and did not require much of histime. And now, just when he ought to put in his claim for Lois, if hewas ever going to make it; just when she was set loose from her oldties and marking out a new and hard way of life for herself, he oughtto come; and he was going on business to Canada! Mrs. Barclay wasexcessively disgusted and disappointed. She had not, indeed, all alongseen how Philip's wooing could issue successfully, if it ever came tothe point of wooing; the elements were too discordant, and principlestoo obstinate; and yet she had worked on in hope, vague and doubtful, but still hope, thinking highly herself of Mr. Dillwyn's pretensionsand powers of persuasion, and knowing that in human nature at large allprinciple and all discordance are apt to come to a signal defeat whenLove takes the field. But now there seemed to be no question of wooing;Love was not on hand, where his power was wanted; the friends were allscattered one from another – Lois going to the drudgery of teachingrough boys and girls, she herself to the seclusion of some quietseaside retreat, and Mr. Dillwyn – to hunt bears? – in Canada.

CHAPTER XXXIX

LUXURY

So they were all scattered. But the moving and communicating wires ofhuman society seem as often as any way to run underground; quite out ofsight, at least; then specially strong, when to an outsider they appearto be broken and parted for ever.

Into the history of the summer it is impossible to go minutely. WhatMr. Dillwyn did in Canada, and how Lois fought with ignorance andrudeness and prejudice in her new situation, Mrs. Barclay learned butvery imperfectly from the letters she received; so imperfectly, thatshe felt she knew nothing. Mr. Dillwyn never mentioned Miss Lothrop.Could it be that he had prematurely brought things to a decision, andso got them decided wrong? But in that case Mrs. Barclay felt sure somesign would have escaped Lois; and she gave none.

The summer passed, and two-thirds of the autumn.

One evening in the end of October, Mrs. Wishart was sitting alone inher back drawing-room. She was suffering from a cold, and coddlingherself over the fire. Her major-domo brought her Mr. Dillwyn's nameand request for admission, which was joyfully granted. Mrs. Wishart wasdenied to ordinary visitors; and Philip's arrival was like abenediction.

"Where have you been all summer?" she asked him, when they had talkedawhile of some things nearer home.

"In the backwoods of Canada."

"The backwoods of Canada!"

"I assure you it is a very enjoyable region."

"What could you find to do there?"

"More than enough. I spent my time between hunting – fishing – andstudying."