Chapter 23

A BREAKFAST TABLE.

It was Christmas eve. Lois had done her morning work by the lamplight, and was putting the dining-room, or sitting-room rather, in order; when Madge joined her and began to help.

"Is the other room ready?"

"All ready," said Lois.

"Are you doing that elm tree?"

"Yes."

"How do you get along?"

"I cannot manage it yet, to my satisfaction; but I will. O Madge, isn't it too delicious?"

"What? the drawing? Isn't it!!"

"I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. I am getting hold of French, and it's delightful. But the books! O Madge, the books! I feel as if I had been a chicken in his shell until now, and as if I were just getting my eyes open to see what the world is like."

"What _is_ it like?" asked Madge, laughing. "My eyes are shut yet, I suppose, for _I_ haven't found out. You can tell me."

"Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are shut. Besides, mine are only getting open."

"What do they see? Come, Lois, tell."

Lois stood still, resting on her broom handle.

"The world seems to me an immense battle-place, where wrong and right have been struggling; always struggling. And sometimes the wrong seems to cover the whole earth, like a flood, and there is nothing but confusion and horror; and then sometimes the floods part and one sees a little bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers might grow, if they had a chance. And in those spots there is generally some great, grand man, who has fought back the flood of wrong and made a clearing."

"Well, I do not understand all that one bit!" said Madge.

"I do not wonder," said Lois, laughing, "I do not understand it very clearly myself. I cannot blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, that the ancient Persians had just that idea of the world being a battle-place, and that wrong and right were fighting; or rather, that the Spirit of good and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd was their name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman the other. It is very strange, for that is just the truth."

"Then why is it strange?" said downright Madge.

"Because they were heathen; they did not know the Bible."

"Is that what the Bible says? I didn't know it."

"Why, Madge, yes, you did. You know who is called the 'Prince of this world'; and you know Jesus 'was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign till he has put all enemies under his feet.' But how should those old Persians know so much, with out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You know, Enoch knew?"--

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course they all knew when they came out of the ark"--

"Who--the Persians?"

Lois broke out into a laugh, and began to move her broom again.

"What have you been reading, to put all this into your head?"

The broom stopped.

"Ancient history, and modern; parts here and there, in different books. Mrs. Barclay showed me where; and then we have talked"--

Lois began now to sweep vigorously.

"Lois, is _she_ like the people you used to see in New York? I mean, were they all like her?"

"Not all so nice."

"But like her?"

"Not in everything. No, they were not most of them so clever, and most of them did not know so much, and were not so accomplished."

"But they were like her in other things?"

"No," said Lois, standing still; "she is a head and shoulders above most of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what you mean."

"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seem very stupid to her, Lois."

"Shampuashuh people are not stupid."

"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. And she don't want us to be like Mrs. Barclay."

"No danger!"--said Lois, very busy now at her work.

"But wouldn't you _like_ to be like Mrs. Barclay?"

"Yes."

"So would I."

"Well, we can, in the things that are most valuable," said Lois, standing still again for a moment to look at her sister.

"O, yes, books-- But I would like to be graceful like Mrs. Barclay. You would call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all the rest. Her beautiful manners."

"She _has_ beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners can be taught. They cannot be imitated."

"Why not?"

"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suit another. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on my face. No, they would not be natural."

"You need not wish for anybody's nose but your own," said Madge. "_That_ will do, and so will mine, I'm thankful! But what makes her look so unhappy, Lois?"

"She does look unhappy."

"She looks as if she had lost all her friends."

"She has got _one_, here," said Lois, sweeping away.

"But what good can you do her?"

"Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even know the fact."

"She's doing a good deal for us."

A little later, Mrs. Barclay came down to her room. She found it, as always, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into every corner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it was cloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that could be seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth lay brown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest play of light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings of books, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught in tin folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and purple in hue, and again it warmed up the old-fashioned furniture and lost itself in a brown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found them even in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, the piles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio of engravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreigner. She sat in her comfortable chair before the fire and read her letters, which Lois had laid ready for her; and then she was called to breakfast.

Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here too, as she had often done before. The old lady, ungainly as her figure and uncomely as her face were, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of a strong and true character, which with abundant self-respect, had not, and never had, any anxious concern about the opinion of any human being. Whoever feels himself responsible to the one Great Ruler alone, and _does_ feel that responsibility, will be both worthy of respect and sure to have it in his relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. Barclay paid Mrs. Armadale. Her eye passed on and admired Madge, who was very handsome in her neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois finally with absolute contentment. Lois was in a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knitted shawl bound round her shoulders in the way children sometimes have, the ends crossed on the breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown and white was her whole figure, except the rosy flush on cheeks and lips; the masses of fluffy hair were reddish-brown, a shade lighter than her dress. At Charity Mrs. Barclay did not look much, unless for curiosity; she was a study of a different sort.

"What delicious rolls!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Are these your work, Miss Charity?"

"I can make as good, I guess," said that lady; "but these ain't mine. Lois made 'em."

"Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "I did not know that this was one of your accomplishments."

"Is _that_ what you call an accomplishment," said Charity.

"Certainly. What do you mean by it?"

"I thought an accomplishment was something that one could accomplish that was no use."

"I am sorry you have such an opinion of accomplishments."

"Well, ain't it true? Lois, maybe Mrs. Barclay don't care for sausages. There's cold meat."

"Your sausages are excellent. I like _such_ sausage very much."

"I always think sausages ain't sausages if they ain't stuffed. Aunt Anne won't have the plague of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doing at all, it's worth doing the best way; and there's no comparison in my mind."

"So you judge everything by its utility."

"Don't everybody, that's got any sense?"

"And therefore you condemn accomplishments?"

"Well, I don't see the use. O, if folks have got nothing else to do, and just want to make a flare-up--but for us in Shampuashuh, what's the good of them? For Lois and Madge, now? I don't make it out."

"You forget, your sisters may marry, and go somewhere else to live; and then"--

"I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois ain't goin' to marry anybody but a real godly man, and what use'll her accomplishments be to her then?"

"Why, just as much use, I hope," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "Why not? The more education a woman has, the more fit she is to content a man of education, anywhere."

"Where's she to get a man of education?" said Charity. "What you mean by that don't grow in these parts. We ain't savages exactly, but there ain't many accomplishments scattered through the village. Unless, as you say, bread-makin's one. We do know how to make bread, and cake, with anybody; Lois said she didn't see a bit o' real good cake all the while she was in Gotham; and we can cure hams, and we understand horses and cows, and butter and cheese, and farming, of course, and that; but you won't find your man of education here, or Lois won't."

"She may find him somewhere else," said Mrs. Barclay, looking at Charity over her coffee-cup.

"Then he won't be the right kind," persisted Charity; while Lois laughed, and begged they would not discuss the question of her possible "finds"; but Mrs. Barclay asked, "How not the right kind?"

"Well, every place has its sort," said Charity. "Our sort is religious. I don't know whether we're any _better_ than other folks, but we're religious; and your men of accomplishments ain't, be they?"

"Depends on what you mean by religious."

"Well, I mean godly. Lois won't ever marry any but a godly man."

"I hope not!" said Mrs. Armadale.

"_She_ won't," said Charity; "but you had better talk to Madge, mother. I am not so sure of her. Lois is safe."

"'The fashion of this world passeth away,'" said the old lady, with a gravity which was yet sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth for ever.'"

Mrs. Barclay was now silent. This morning, contrary to her usual wont, she kept her place at the table, though the meal was finished. She was curious to see the ways of the household, and felt herself familiar enough with the family to venture to stay. Charity began to gather her cups.

"Did you give aunt Anne's invitation? Hand along the plates, Madge, and carry your butter away. We've been for ever eating breakfast."

"Talking," said Mrs. Barclay, with a smile.

"Talking's all very well, but I think one thing at a time is enough. It is as much as most folks can attend to. Lois, do give me the plates; and give your invitation."

"Aunt Anne wants us all to come and take tea with her to-night," said Lois; "and she sent her compliments to Mrs. Barclay, and a message that she would be very glad to see her with the rest of us."

"I am much obliged, and shall be very happy to go."

"'Tain't a party," said Charity, who was receiving plates and knives and forks from Lois's hand, and making them elaborately ready for washing; while Madge went back and forth clearing the table of the remains of the meal. "It's nothin' but to go and take our tea there instead of here. We save the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have the trouble of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has for her side she knows best herself. I guess she's proud of her sweetmeats."

Mrs. Barclay smiled again. "It seems parties are much the same thing, wherever they are given," she said.

"This ain't a party," repeated Charity. Madge had now brought a tub of hot water, and the washing up of the breakfast dishes was undertaken by Lois and Charity with a despatch and neatness and celerity which the looker-on had never seen equalled.

"Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fashion," she remarked. "I have not heard of any since I have been here."

"No," said Charity. "We have more sense."

"I am not sure that it shows sense," remarked Lois, carrying off a pile of clean hot plates to the cupboard.

"What's the use of 'em?" said the elder sister.

"Cultivation of friendly feeling," suggested Mrs. Barclay.

"If folks ain't friendly already, the less they see of one another the better they'll agree," said Charity.

"Miss Charity, I am afraid you do not love your fellow-creatures," said Mrs. Barclay, much amused.

"As well as they love me, I guess," said Charity.

"Mrs. Armadale," said Mrs. Barclay, appealing to the old lady who sat in her corner knitting as usual,--"do not these opinions require some correction?"

"Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. Armadale, scratching behind her ear with the point of her needle, as she was very apt to do when called upon.

"But that is not the right way to think, is it?"

"It's the natural way," said the old lady. "It is only the fruit of the Spirit that is 'love, joy, peace.' 'Tain't natural to love what you don't like."

"What you don't like! no," said Mrs. Barclay; "that is a pitch of love I never dreamed of."

"'If ye love them that love you, what thank have ye?'" said the old lady quietly.

"Mother's off now," said Charity; "out of anybody's understanding. One would think I was more unnatural than the rest of folks!"

"She _said_ you were more natural, thats all," said Lois, with a sly smile.

The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a few minutes more, marvelling to see the quick dexterity with which everything was done by the two girls; until the dishes were put away, the tcib and towels were gone, the table was covered with its brown cloth, a few crumbs were brushed from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one direction and Lois in another. Mrs. Barclay herself withdrew to her room and her thoughts.