Chapter 24

"Friends, I sorrow not to leave ye; If this life an exile be, We who leave it do but journey Homeward to our family." SPANISH BALLAD.

The first of April came.

Mr. Rossitur had made up his mind not to abide at Queechy, which only held him now by the frail thread of Hugh's life. Mr. Carleton knew this, and had even taken some steps towards securing for him a situation in the West Indies. But it was unknown to Fleda; she had not heard her uncle say anything on the subject since she came home; and though aware that their stay was a doubtful matter, she still thought it might be as well to have the garden in order. Philetus could not be trusted to do everything wisely of his own head, and even some delicate jobs of hand could not be safely left to his skill; if the garden was to make any head-way, Fleda's head and hand must both be there, she knew. So, as the spring opened, she used to steal away from the house every morning for an hour or two, hardly letting her friends know what she was about, to make sure that peas, and potatoes, and radishes, and lettuce, were in the right places at the right times, and to see that the later and more delicate vegetables were preparing for. She took care to have this business well over before the time that Mr. Carleton ever arrived from the Pool.

One morning she was busy in dressing the strawberry beds, forking up the ground between the plants, and filling the vacancies that the severe winter or some irregularities of fall dressing had made. Mr. Skillcorn was rendering a somewhat inefficient help, or, perhaps, amusing himself with seeing how she worked. The little old silver-grey hood was bending down over the strawberries, and the fork was going at a very energetic rate.

"Philetus —"

"Marm!"

"Will you bring me that bunch of strawberry plants that lies at the corner of the beds, in the walk? — and my trowel?"

"I will!" said Mr. Skillcorn.

It was, another hand, however, that brought them and laid them beside her; but Fleda, very intent upon her work, and hidden under her close hood, did not find it out. She went on busily putting in the plants as she found room for them, and just conscious, as she thought, that Philetus was still standing at her side, she called upon him from time to time, or merely stretched out her hand, for a fresh plant as she had occasion for it.

"Philetus," she said at length, raising her voice a little that it might win to him round the edge of her hood, without turning her face — "I wish you would get the ground ready for that other planting of potatoes — you needn't stay to help me any longer."

" 'Tain't me, I guess," said the voice of Philetus, on the other side of her.

Fleda looked in astonishment to make sure that it really was Mr. Skillcorn proceeding along the garden path in that quarter, and turning, jumped up and dropped her trowel and fork, to have her hands otherwise occupied. Mr. Skillcorn walked off leisurely towards the potato ground, singing to himself in a kind of consolatory aside —

"I cock'd up my beaver, and who but I! The lace in my hat was so gallant and so gay, That I flourished like a king in his own countray."

"There is one of your countrymen that is an odd variety, certainly," said Mr. Carleton, looking after him with a very comic expression of eye.

"Is he not?" said Fleda. "And hardly a common one. There never was a line more mathematically straight than the course of Philetus's ideas; they never diverge, I think, to the right hand or the left, a jot from his own self-interest."

"You will be an invaluable help to me, Elfie, if you can read my English friends as closely."

"I am afraid you will not let me come as close to them," said Fleda, laughing.

"Perhaps not. I shouldn't like to pay too high a premium for the knowledge. How is Hugh, to-day?"

Fleda answered, with a quick change of look and voice, that he was much as usual.

"My mother has written me that she will be here by the 'Europa,' which is due to-morrow. I must set off for New York this afternoon; therefore I came so early to Queechy."

Fleda was instinctively pulling off her gardening gloves, as they walked towards the house.

"Aunt Miriam wants to see you, Mr. Carleton — she begged I would ask you to come there some time —"

"With great pleasure. Shall we go there now, Elfie?"

"I will be ready in five minutes."

Mrs. Rossitur was alone in the breakfast-room when they went in. Hugh, she reported, was asleep, and would be just ready to see Mr. Carleton by the time they got back. They stood a few minutes talking, and then Fleda went to get ready.

Both pair of eyes followed her as she left the room, and then met with perfect understanding.

"Will you give your child to me, Mrs. Rossitur?" said the gentleman.

"With all my heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, bursting into tears — "even if I were left alone entirely —"

Her agitation was uncontrolled for a minute; and then she said, with feeling seemingly too strong to be kept in —

"If I were only sure of meeting her in heaven, I could be content to be without her till then!"

"What is in the way, my dear Madam?" said Mr. Carleton, with a gentle sympathy that touched the very spring he meant it should. Mrs. Rossitur waited a minute, but it was only till tears would let her speak, and then said like a child —

"Oh, it is all darkness!"

"Except this," said he, gently and clearly, "that Jesus Christ is a sun and a shield; and those that put themselves at His feet are safe from all fear, and they who go to Him for light shall complain of darkness no more."

"But I do not know how —"

"Ask Him, and He will tell you."

"But I am unworthy even to look up towards Him," said Mrs. Rossitur, struggling, it seemed, between doubts and wishes.

"He knows that, and yet He has bid you come to Him. He knows that; and, knowing it, He has taken your responsibility, and paid your debt, and offers you now a clean discharge, if you will take it at His hand; and for the other part of this unworthiness, that blood cannot do away, blood has brought the remedy —

Shall we, who are evil, give good things to our children; and shall not our Father, which is in heaven, give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?"

"But must I do nothing?" said Mrs. Rossitur, when she had remained quiet, with her face in her hands, for a minute or two after he had done speaking.

"Nothing but be willing — be willing to have Christ in all His offices, as your Teacher, your King, and your Redeemer; give yourself to Him, dear Mrs. Rossitur, and He will take care of the rest."

"I am willing!" she exclaimed. Fresh tears came, and came freely. Mr. Carleton said no more, till; hearing some noise of opening and shutting doors above stairs, Mrs. Rossitur hurriedly left the room, and Fleda came in by the other entrance.

"May I take you a little out of the way, Mr. Carleton?" she said, when they had passed through the Deepwater settlement. "I have a message to carry to Mrs. Elster — a poor woman out here beyond the Lake. It is not a disagreeable place."

"And what if it were?"

"I should not, perhaps, have asked you to go with me," said Fleda, a little doubtfully.

"You may take me where you will, Elfie," he said, gently. "I hope to do as much by you some day."

Fleda looked up at the piece of elegance beside her, and thought what a change must have come over him if _he_ would visit poor places. He was silent and grave, however, and so was she, till they arrived at the house they were going to.

Certainly it was not a disagreeable place. Barb's much less strong-minded sister had at least a good share of her practical nicety. The little board path to the door was clean and white still, with possibly a trifle less brilliant effect. The room and its old inhabitants were very comfortable and tidy — the patchwork counterpane as gay as ever. Mrs. Elster was alone, keeping company with a snug little wood fire, which was near as much needed in that early spring weather as it had been during the winter.

Mr. Carleton had come back from his abstraction, and stood, taking half unconscious note of these things, while Fleda was delivering her message to the old woman. Mrs. Elster listened to her implicitly, with, every now and then, an acquiescing nod or ejaculation; but so soon as Fleda had said her say, she burst out, with a voice that had never known the mufflings of delicacy, and was now pitched entirely beyond its owner's ken. Looking hard at Mr. Carleton —

"Fleda! Is _this_ the gentleman that's to be your — _husband?_"

The last word elevated and brought out with emphatic distinctness of utterance.

If the demand had been, whether the gentleman in question was a follower of Mohammed, it would hardly have been more impossible for Fleda to give an affirmative answer; but Mr. Carleton laughed, and, bringing his face a little nearer the old crone, answered —

"So she has promised, Ma'am ."

It was curious to see the lines of the old woman's face relax as she looked at him.

"He's worthy of you, as far as looks goes," she said, in the same key as before, apostrophising Fleda, who had drawn back, but not stirring her eyes from Mr. Carleton all the time. And then she added to him, with a little, satisfied nod, and in a very decided tone of information —

"She will make you a good wife."

"Because she has made a good friend?" said Mr. Carleton, quietly. "Will you let me be a friend, too?"

He had turned the old lady's thoughts into a golden channel, whence, as she was an American, they had no immediate issue in words; and Fleda and Mr. Carleton left the house without anything more.

Fleda felt nervous. But Mr. Carleton's first words were as coolly and as gravely spoken as if they had just come out from a philosophical lecture; and with an immediate spring of relief, she enjoyed every step of the way, and every word of the conversation, which was kept up with great life till they reached Mrs. Plumfield's door.

No one was in the sitting-room. Fleda left Mr. Carleton there, and passed gently into the inner apartment, the door of which was standing ajar.

But her heart absolutely leaped into her mouth, for Dr. Quackenboss and Mr. Olmney were there on either side of her aunt's bed. Fleda came forward and shook hands.

"This is quite a meeting of friends," said the doctor, blandly, yet with a perceptible shading of the whilome broad sunshine of his face. "Your — a — aunt, my dear Miss Ringgan, is in a most extraordinary state of mind!"

Fleda was glad to hide her face against her aunt's, and asked her how she did.

"Dr. Quackenboss thinks it extraordinary, Fleda," said the old lady, with her usual cheerful sedateness, "that one who has trusted God, and had constant experience of His goodness and faithfulness for forty years, should not doubt Him at the end of it."

"You have no doubt — of any kind, Mrs. Plumfield?" said the clergyman.

"Not the shadow of a doubt!" was the hearty, steady reply.

"You mistake, my dear Madam," said Dr. Quackenboss, "pardon me — it is not that: I would be understood to say, merely, that I do not comprehend how such — a — such security — can be attained respecting what seems so — a — elevated — and difficult to know."

"Only by believing," said Mrs. Plumfield, with a very calm smile. " 'He that believeth on Him shall not be ashamed;' — 'shall _not _ be ashamed!' " she repeated, slowly.

Dr. Quackenboss looked at Fleda, who kept her eyes fixed upon her aunt.

"But it seems to me — I beg pardon; perhaps I am arrogant" — he said, with a little bow; "but it appears to me almost — in a manner — almost presumptuous, not to be a little doubtful in such a matter until the time comes. Am I — do you disapprove of me, Mr. Olmney?"

Mr. Olmney silently referred him for his answer to the person he had first addressed, who had closed her eyes while he was speaking.

"Sir," she said, opening them, "it can't be presumption to obey God, and He tells me to rejoice. And I do — I do! — 'Let all those that love thee rejoice in thee, and be glad in thee!' But mind!" she added, energetically, fixing her strong grey eve upon him, "He does not tell you to rejoice — do not think it — not while you stand aloof from His terms of peace. Take God at His word, and be happy; but if not, you have nothing to do with the song that I sing!"

The doctor stared at her till she had done speaking, and then slunk out of her range of vision behind the curtains of the bed-post. Not silenced, however.

"But — a — Mr. Olmney," said he, hesitating, "don't you think that there is in general — a — a becoming modesty, in — a — in people that have done wrong, as we all have — putting off being sure until they are so? It seems so to me!"

"Come here, Dr. Quackenboss," said aunt Miriam.

She waited till he came to her side, and then taking his hand, and looking at him very kindly, she said —

"Sir, forty years ago I found in the Bible, as you say, that I was a sinner, and that drove me to look for something else. I found then God's promise, that if I would give my dependence entirely to the Substitute he had provided for me, and yield my heart to his service, he would, for Christ's sake, hold me quit of all my debts, and be my father, and make me his child. And, Sir, I did it. I abhor every other dependence — the things you count good in me I reckon but filthy rags. At the same time, I know that ever since that day, forty years ago, I have lived in his service, and tried to live to his glory. And now, Sir, shall I disbelieve his promise? do you think he would be pleased if I did?"

The doctor's mouth was stopped, for once, He drew back as soon as he could, and said not another word.

Before anybody had broken the silence, Seth came in; and after shaking hands with Fleda, startled her by asking, whether that was not Mr. Carleton in the other room.

"Yes," Fleda said — "he came to see aunt Miriam."

"Aint you well enough to see him, mother?"

"Quite — and very happy," she said.

Seth immediately went back and invited him in. Fleda dared not look up while the introductions were passing — of "the Rev. Mr. Olmney," and of "Dr. Quackenboss," the former of whom Mr. Carleton took cordially by the hand, while Dr. Quackenboss, conceiving that his hand must be as acceptable, made his salutations with an indescribable air, at once of attempted gracefulness and ingratiation. Fleda saw the whole in the advancing line of the doctor's person, a vision of which crossed her downcast eye. She drew back then, for Mr. Carleton came where she was standing, to take her aunt's hand; Seth had absolutely stayed his way before to make the said introductions.

Mrs. Plumfield was little changed by years or disease since he had seen her. There was somewhat more of a look of bodily weakness than there used to be; but the dignified, strong- minded expression of the face was even heightened; eye and brow were more pure and unclouded in their steadfastness. She looked very earnestly at her visitor, and then with evident pleasure from the manner of his look and greeting. Fleda watched her eye softening with a gratified expression, and fixed upon him, as he was gently talking to her.

Mr. Olmney presently came round to take leave, promising to see her another time; and passing Fleda, with a frank grave pressure of the hand, which gave her some pain. He and Seth left the room. Fleda was hardly conscious that Dr. Quackenboss was still standing at the foot of the bed, making the utmost use of his powers of observation. He could use little else, for Mr. Carleton and Mrs. Plumfield, after a few words on each side, had, as it were, by common consent, come to a pause. The doctor, when a sufficient time had made him fully sensible of this, walked up to Fleda, who wished heartily at the moment that she could have presented the reverse end of the magnet to him. Perhaps, however, it was that very thing which, by a perverse sort of attraction, drew him towards her.

"I suppose — a — we may conclude," said he, with a some. what saturnine expression of mischief — "that Miss Ringgan contemplates forsaking the agricultural line before a great while?"

"I have not given up my old habits, Sir," said Fleda, a good deal vexed.

"No — I suppose not — but Queechy air is not so well suited for them — other skies will prove more genial," he said, she could not help thinking, pleased at her displeasure.

"What is the fault of Queechy air, Sir?" said Mr. Carleton, approaching them.

"Sir!" said the doctor, exceedingly taken aback, though the words had been spoken in the quietest manner possible — "it — a — it has no fault, Sir — that I am particularly aware of — it is perfectly salubrious. Mrs. Plumfield, I will bid you good-day; — I — a — I hope you will get well again."

"I hope not, Sir!" said aunt Miriam, in the same clear hearty tones which had answered him before.

The doctor took his departure, and made capital of his interview with Mr. Carleton; who, he affirmed, he could tell by what he had seen of him, was a very deciduous character, and not always conciliating in his manners.

Fleda waited with a little anxiety for what was to follow the doctor's leave-taking.

It was with a very softened eye that aunt Miriam looked at the two who were left, clasping Fleda's hand again; and it was with a very softened voice that she next spoke.

"Do you remember our last meeting, Sir?"

"I remember it well," he said.

"Fleda tells me you are a changed man since that time?"

He answered only by a slight and grave bow.

"Mr. Carleton," said the old lady — "I am a dying woman — and this child is the dearest thing in the world to me after my own — and hardly after him. Will you pardon me — will you bear with me, if, that I may die in peace, I say, Sir, what else it would not become me to say? — and it is for her sake."

"Speak to me freely as you would to her," he said, with a look that gave her full permission.

Fleda had drawn close and hid her face in her aunt's neck. Aunt Miriam's hand moved fondly over her cheek and brow for a minute or two in silence; her eye resting there too.

"Mr. Carleton, this child is to belong to you — how will you guide her?"

"By the gentlest paths," he said, with a smile.

A whispered remonstrance from Fleda to her aunt had no effect.

"Will her best interests be safe in your hands?"

"How shall I resolve you of that, Mrs. Plumfield?" he said, gravely.

"Will you help her to mind her mother's prayer, and keep herself unspotted from the world?"

"As I trust she will help me."

A rogue may answer questions, but an eye that has never known the shadow of double-dealing makes no doubtful discoveries of itself. Mrs. Plumfield read it, and gave it her very thorough respect.

"Mr. Carleton — pardon me, Sir — I do not doubt you — but I remember hearing long ago that you were rich and great in the world — it is dangerous for a Christian to be so — can she keep in your grandeur the simplicity of heart and life she has had at Queechy?"

"May I remind you of your own words, my dear madam? By the blessing of God all things are possible. These things you speak of are not in themselves evil; if the mind be set on somewhat else, they are little beside a larger storehouse of material to work with — an increased stewardship to account for."

"She has been taking care of others all her life," said aunt Miriam, tenderly; "it is time she was taken care of: and these feet are very unfit for rough paths; but I would rather she should go on struggling, as she has done, with difficulties, and live and die in poverty, than that the lustre of her heavenly inheritance should be tarnished even a little. I would, my darling."

"But the alternative is not so," said Mr. Carleton, with gentle grace, touching Fleda's hand, who he saw was a good deal disturbed. "Do not make her afraid of me, Mrs. Plumfield."

"I do not believe I need," said aunt Miriam, "and I am sure I could not — but, Sir, you will forgive me?"

"No, Madam — that is not possible."

"One cannot stand where I do," said the old lady, "without learning a little the comparative value of things; and I seek my child's good — that is my excuse. I could not be satisfied to take her testimony."

"Take mine, Madam," said Mr. Carleton. "I have learned the comparative value of things too; and I will guard her highest interests as carefully as I will every other — as earnestly as you can desire."

"I thank you, Sir," said the old lady, gratefully. "I am sure of it. I shall leave her in good hands. I wanted this assurance. And if ever there was a tender plant that was not fitted to grow on the rough side of the world — I think this is one," said she, kissing earnestly the face that yet Fleda did not dare to lift up.

Mr. Carleton did not say what he thought. He presently took kind leave of the old lady, and went into the next room, where Fleda soon rejoined him, and they set off homewards.

Fleda was quietly crying all the way down the hill. At the foot of the hill, Mr. Carleton resolutely slackened his pace.

"I have one consolation," he said, "my dear Elfie — you will have the less to leave for me."

She put her hand with a quick motion upon his, and roused herself.

"She is a beautiful rebuke to unbelief. But she is hardly to be mourned for, Elfie."

"Oh, I was not crying for aunt Miriam," said Fleda.

"For what then?" he said, gently.

"Myself."

"That needs explanation," he said, in the same tone. "Let me have it, Elfie."

"Oh — I was thinking of several things," said Fleda, not exactly wishing to give the explanation.

"Too vague," said Mr. Carleton, smiling. "Trust me with a little more of your mind, Elfie."

Fleda glanced up at him, half smiling, and yet with filling eyes, and then, as usual, yielded to the winning power of the look that met her.

"I was thinking," she said, keeping her head carefully down, "of some of the things you and aunt Miriam were saying just now — and — how good for nothing I am."

"In what respect?" said Mr. Carleton, with praiseworthy gravity.

Fleda hesitated, and he pressed the matter no further; but, more unwilling to displease him than herself, she presently went on, with some difficulty; wording what she had to say with as much care as she could.

"I was thinking, how gratitude — or not gratitude alone — but how one can be full of the desire to please another — a fellow-creature — and find it constantly easy to do or bear anything for that purpose; and how slowly and coldly duty has to move alone in the direction where it should be the swiftest and warmest."

She knew he would take her words as simply as she said them; she was not disappointed. He was silent a minute, and then said gravely, —

"Is this a late discovery, Elfie?"

"No — only I was realizing it strongly just now."

"It is a complaint we may all make. The remedy is, not to love less what we know, but to know better that of which we are in ignorance. We will be helps, and not hindrances to each other, Elfie."

"You have said that before," said Fleda, still keeping her head down.

"What?"

"About my being a help to you!"

"It will not be the first time," said he, smiling; "nor the second. Your little hand first held up a glass to gather the scattered rays of truth that could not warm me, into a centre where they must burn."

"Very innocently," said Fleda, with a little unsteady feeling of voice.

"Very innocently!" said Mr. Carleton, smiling. "A veritable lens could hardly have been more unconscious of its work, or more pure of design."

"I do not think that was quite so, either, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda.

"It was so, my dear Elfie, and your present speech is nothing against it. This power of example is always unconsciously wielded; the medium ceases to be clear so soon as it is made anything but as medium. The bits of truth you aimed at me wittingly would have been nothing, if they had not come through that medium."

"Then apparently one's prime efforts ought to be directed to one's self."

"One's first efforts, certainly Your silent example was the first thing that moved me."

"Silent example!" said Fleda, catching her breath a little. "Mine ought to be very good, for I can never do good in any other way."

"You used to talk pretty freely to me."

"It wasn't my fault, I am certain," said Fleda, half laughing. "Besides, I was sure of my ground. But, in general, I never can speak to people about what will do them any good."

"Yet, whatever be the power of silent example, there are often times when a word is of incalculable importance."

"I know it," said Fleda, earnestly; "I have felt it very often, and grieved that I could not say it, even at the very moment when I knew it was wanting."

"Is that right, Elfie?"

"No," said Fleda, with quick watering eyes; "it is not right at all; but it is constitutional with me. I never can talk to other people of what concerns my own thoughts and feelings."

"But this concerns other people's thoughts and feelings."

"Yes; but there is an implied revelation of my own."

"Do you expect to include me in the denomination of 'other people?' "

"I don't know," said Fleda, laughing.

"Do you wish it?"

Fleda looked down and up, and coloured, and said she didn't know.

"I will teach you," said he, smiling.

The rest of the day, by both, was given to Hugh.