Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all thearrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. Thenext morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and onchimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river whichwas visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, andat the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed andwent down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlightstreaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her.

"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortablerocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at mywork!" – Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose.

"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left myduster – "

Has she been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegantcreature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if shewere busy.

"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something ofme?"

"Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get acquain'ted."

Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleasantly ready.

"I am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble! If you get tiredof me, you must just let me know. Will you?"

"There is no fear," Lois assured her. "We are very glad to have you. Ifonly you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after whatyou have been accustomed to."

"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the airhere is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up thesalt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those oldelms are over the way! I could hardly get dressed, for looking at them.Do you draw?"

"I? O no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, of course, but I havelearned only common things. I do not know anything about drawing."

"Perhaps you will let me teach you?"

The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made no answer at first, and then murmured, "You are very kind!"

"One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar clay said. "I cannot letall your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; ithas whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep arecord of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes."

"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should thinkthat would be delightful for the people who travel."

"You will travel some day."

"No, there is no hope of that."

"You would like it, then?"

"O, who would not like it! I went with Mrs. Wishart to the Isles ofShoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notionwhat a place the world is."

"And what a place do you think it is?"

"O, so wonderfully full of beautiful things – so full! so full! – and ofsuch different beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and theSound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spokewith a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accentto her words.

"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclaycarelessly, but watching her.

"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of theworld of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh andpowerful and beautiful – it all comes back to me now, when I think ofthe surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and thefeeling of the air."

"But how were the people? were they uncommon too? Part of one'simpression is apt to come from the human side of the thing."

"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city peoplestaying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all."

"Why not?"

"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unlessthey were told of it; nor then either."

"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs.Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shallnot be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too."

"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge everthought of such a thing."

"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?"

"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that."

"You are fond of reading? I have brought a few books with me, which Ihope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by."

"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression ofpleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt wecould hardly spare the money."

They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again withfresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptivereadiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, andself-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to beread in the face and manner of each one; good ground to work upon.Still Mrs. Barclay privately shook her head at her task.

"Miss Madge," she said suddenly, "I have been proposing to teach yoursister to draw. Would you like to join her?"

Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spokeup and asked, "To draw what?"

"Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places."

"I don't see what's the use. When you've got a pretty thing, whatshould you draw it for?"

"Suppose you have not got it."

"Then you can't draw it," said Charity.

"O Charity, you don't understand," cried Lois. "If I had known how todraw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoalslast summer."

"They wouldn't have been like."

Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging thequestion.

"What question?" said Charity.

"I mean, you are assuming a thing without evidence."

"It don't need evidence," said Charity. "I never saw a picture yet thatwas worth a red cent. It's only a make-believe."

"Then you will not join our drawing class, Miss Charity?"

"No; and I should think Madge had better stick to her sewing. There'splenty to do."

"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and I shouldn't think dutywould leave much time for making marks on paper."

The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some ofher books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized herto write to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to youuntil I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so muchalready that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relievemyself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is the one? Is it theblack-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features?she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she isless handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of themhave capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictlyreligious sort; I see that; the old grandmother is a regular Puritan, and the girls follow her lead; and I am in a confused state of mindthinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do withsuch a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; atleast you know I think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, andthis little girl is. I do not mean to say anything against her; only, you want me to make a woman of the world out of the girl – and I doubtmuch whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; itis a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certaincases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material towhich it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who woulddisapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldlyplans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? Ihave indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; butI cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will saywhen they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking yourmoney on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which maysucceed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Thinkbetter of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for thepeople please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be veryagreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is noviolent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, youcannot marry a Puritan."

How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of higher education in thisfarmhouse, she did not clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; but how was she to propose teaching languages, or suggest algebra, orinsist upon history? She must wait, and feel her way; and in themeantime she scattered books about her room, books chosen with somecare, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to catch her fish. Meanwhileshe made herself very agreeable in the family; and that without anyparticular exertion, which she rightly judged would hinder and not helpher object.

"Isn't she pleasant?" said Lois one evening, when the family were alone.

"She's elegant!" said Madge.

"She has plenty to say for herself," added Charity.

"But she don't look like a happy woman, Lois," Madge went on. "Her faceis regularly sad, when she ain't talking."

"But it's sweet when she is."

"I'll tell you what, girls," said Charity, – "she's a real proud woman."

"O Charity! nothing of the sort," cried Lois. "She is as kind as shecan be."

"Who said she wasn't? I said she was proud, and she is. She's a right, for all I know; she ain't like our Shampuashuh people."

"She is a lady," said Lois.

"What do you mean by that, Lois?" Madge fired up. "You don't mean, Ihope, that the rest of us are not ladies, do you?"

"Not like her."

"Well, why should we be like her?"

"Because her ways are so beautiful. I should be glad to be like her.

She is just what you called her – elegant."

"Everybody has their own ways," said Madge.

"I hope none of you will be like her," said Mrs. Armadale gravely; "forshe's a woman of the world, and knows the world's ways, and she knowsnothin' else, poor thing!"

"But, grandmother," Lois put in, "some of the world's ways are good."

"Be they?" said the old lady. "I don' know which of 'em."

"Well, grandmother, this way of beautiful manners. They don't all haveit – I don't mean that – but some of them do. They seem to know exactlyhow to behave to everybody, and always what to do or to say; and youcan see Mrs. Barclay is one of those. And I like those people. There isa charm about them."

"Don't you always know what's right to do or say, with the Bible beforeyou?"

"O grandmother, but I mean in little things; little words and ways, andtones of voice even. It isn't like Shampuashuh people."

"Well, we're Shampuashuh folks," said Charity. "I hope you won't setup for nothin' else, Lois. I guess your head got turned a bit, withgoin' round the world. But I wish I knew what makes her look so sober!"

"She has lost her husband."

"Other folks have lost their husbands, and a good many of 'em havefound another. Don't be ridiculous, Lois!"

The first bait that took, in the shape of books, was Scott's "Lady ofthe Lake." Lois opened it one day, was caught, begged to be allowed toread it; and from that time had it in her hand whenever her hand wasfree to hold it. She read it aloud, sometimes, to her grandmother, wholistened with a half shake of her head, but allowed it was pretty.Charity was less easy to bribe with sweet sounds.

"What on earth is the use of that?" she demanded one day, when she hadstood still for ten minutes in her way through the room, to hear theaccount of Fitz James's adventure in the wood with Roderick Dhu.

"Don't you like it?" said Lois.

"Don't make head or tail of it. And there sits Madge with her mouthopen, as if it was something to eat; and Lois's cheeks are as pink asif she expected the people to step out and walk in. Mother, do you likeall that stuff?"

"It is poetry, Charity," cried Lois.

"What's the use o' poetry? can you tell me? It seems to me nonsense fora man to write in that way. If he has got something to say, why don'the say it, and be done with it?"

"He does say it, in a most beautiful way."

"It'd be a queer way of doing business!"

"It is not business," said Lois, laughing. "Charity, will you notunderstand? It is poetry."

"What is poetry?"

But alas! Charity had asked what nobody could answer, and she had thefield in triumph.

"It is just a jingle-jangle, and what I call nonsense. Mother, ain'tthat what you would say is a waste of time?"

"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs. Armadale doubtfully, applying herknitting needle to the back of her ear.

"It isn't nonsense; it is delightful!" said Madge indignantly.

"You want me to go on, grandmother, don't you?" said Lois. "We want toknow about the fight, when the two get to Coilantogle ford."

And as she was not forbidden, she went on; while Charity got thespice-box she had come for, and left the room superior.

The "Lady of the Lake" was read through. Mrs. Barclay had hoped to drawon some historical inquiries by means of it; but before she could finda chance, Lois took up Greville's Memoirs. This she read to herself; and not many pages, before she came with the book and a puzzled face toMrs. Barclay's room. Mrs. Barclay was, we may say, a fisher lying inwait for a bite; now she saw she had got one; the thing was to haul inthe line warily and skilfully. She broke up a piece of coal on thefire, and gave her visitor an easy-chair.

"Sit there, my dear. I am very glad of your company. What have you inyour hand? Greville?"

"Yes. I want to ask you about some things. Am I not disturbing you?"

"Most agreeably. I can have nothing better to do than to talk with you.

What is the question?"

"There are several questions. It seems to me a very strange book!"

"Perhaps it is. But why do you say so?"

"Perhaps I should rather say that the people are strange. Is this what the highest society in England is like?"

"In what particulars, do you mean?"

"Why, I think Shampuashuh is better. I am sure Shampuashuh would beashamed of such doings."

"What are you thinking of?" Mrs. Barclay asked, carefully repressing asmile.

"Why, here are people with every advantage, with money and witheducation, and with the power of place and rank, – living for nothingbut mere amusement, and very poor amusement too."

"The conversations alluded to were very often not poor amusement. Someof the society were very brilliant and very experienced men."

"But they did nothing with their lives."

"How does that appear?"

"Here, at the Duke of York's," said Lois, turning over herleaves; – "they sat up till four in the morning playing whist; and onSunday they amused themselves shooting pistols and eating fruit in thegarden, and playing with the monkeys! That is like children."

"My dear, half the world do nothing with their lives, as you phrase it."

"But they ought. And you expect it of people in high places, and havingall sorts of advantages."

"You expect, then, what you do not find."

"And is all of what is called the great world, no better than that?"

"Some of it is better." (O Philip, Philip, where are you? thought Mrs.Barclay.) "They do not all play whist all night. But you know, Lois, people come together to be amused; and it is not everybody that cantalk, or act, sensibly for a long stretch."

"How can they play cards all night?"

"Whist is very ensnaring. And the little excitement of stakes drawspeople on."

"Stakes?" said Lois inquiringly.

"Sums staked on the game."

"Oh! But that is worse than foolish."

"It is to keep the game from growing tiresome. Do you see any harm init?"

"Why, that's gambling."

"In a small way."

"Is it always in a small way?"

"People do not generally play very high at whist."

"It is all the same thing," said Lois. "People begin with a little, andthen a little will not satisfy them."

"True; but one must take the world as one finds it."

"Is the New York world like this?" said Lois, after a moment's pause.

"No! Not in the coarseness you find Mr. Greville tells of. In thematter of pleasure-seeking, I am afraid times and places are muchalike. Those who live for pleasure, are driven to seek it in all mannerof ways. The ways sometimes vary; the principle does not."

"And do all the men gamble?"

"No. Many do not touch cards. My friend, Mr. Dillwyn, for example."

"Mr. Dillwyn? Do you know him?"

"Very well. He was a dear friend of my husband, and has been a faithfulfriend to me. Do you know him?"

"A little. I have seen him."

"You must not expect too much from the world, my dear."

"According to what you say, one must not expect anything from it."

"That is too severe."

"No," said Lois. "What is there to admire or respect in a person wholives only for pleasure?"

"Sometimes there are fine qualities, and brilliant parts, and noblepowers."

"Ah, that makes it only worse!" cried Lois. "Fine qualities, andbrilliant parts, and noble powers, all used for nothing! That is miserable; and when there is so much to do in the world, too!"

"Of what kind?" asked Mrs. Barclay, curious to know her companion'scourse of thought.

"O, help."

"What sort of help?"

"Almost all sorts," said Lois. "You must know even better than I. Don'tyou see a great many people in New York that are in want of some sortof help?"

"Yes; but it is not always easy to give, even where the need isgreatest. People's troubles come largely from their follies."

"Or from other people's follies."

"That is true. But how would you help, Lois?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Mrs. Barclay."

"You are thinking of help to the poor? There is a great deal of thatdone."

"I am thinking of poverty, and sickness, and weakness, and ignorance, and injustice. And a grand man could do a great deal. But not if helived like the creatures in this book. I never saw such a book."

"But we must take men as we find them; and most men are busy seekingtheir own happiness. You cannot blame them for that. It is humannature."

"I blame them for seeking it so. And it is not happiness that peopleplay whist for, till four o'clock in the morning."

"What then?"

"Forgetfulness, I should think; distraction; because they do not knowanything about happiness."

"Who does?" said Mrs. Barclay sadly.

Lois was silent, not because she had not something to say, but becauseshe was not certain how best to say it. There was no doubt in her sweetface, rather a grave assurance which stimulated Mrs. Barclay'scuriosity.

"We must take people as we find them," she repeated. "You cannot expectmen who live for pleasure to give up their search for the sake of otherpeople's pleasure."

"Yet that is the way, – which they miss," said Lois.

"The way to what?"

"To real enjoyment. To life that is worth living."

"What would you have them do?"

"Only what the Bible says."

"I do not believe I know the Bible as well as you do. Of whatdirections are you thinking? 'The poor ye have always with you'?"

"Not that," said Lois. "Let me get my Bible, and I will tellyou. – This, Mrs. Barclay – 'To loose the bands of wickedness, to undothe heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye breakevery yoke… To deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bringthe poor that are cast out to thy house; when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine ownflesh'…"

"And do you think, to live right, one must live so?"

"It is the Bible!" said Lois, with so innocent a look of havinganswered all questions, that Mrs. Barclay was near smiling.

"Do you think anybody ever did live so?"

"Job."

"Did he! I forget."

Lois turned over some leaves, and again read – "'When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and himthat had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perishcame upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy… I waseyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to thepoor: and the cause that I knew not I searched out. And I brake thejaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth.'"

"To be a father to the poor, in these days, would give a man enoughto do, certainly; especially if he searched out all the causes whichwere doubtful. It would take all a man's time, and all his money too,if he were as rich as Job; – unless you put some limit, Lois."

"What limit, Mrs. Barclay?"

"Do you put none? I was not long ago speaking with a friend, such a manof parts and powers as was mentioned just now; a man who thus far inhis life has done nothing but for his own cultivation and amusement. Iwas urging upon him to do something with himself; but I did not tellhim what. It did not occur to me to set him about righting ail thewrongs of the world."

"Is he a Christian?"

"I am afraid you would not say so."

"Then he could not. One must love other people, to live for them."

"Love all sorts?" said Mrs. Barclay.

"You cannot work for them unless you do."

"Then it is hopeless! – unless one is born with an exceptional mind."

"O no," said Lois, smiling, "not hopeless. The love of Christ bringsthe love of all that he loves."

There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tenderness too, in the girl'sface, which made Mrs. Barclay look at her in a somewhat puzzledadmiration. She did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that herface was a commentary upon them; therefore also unintelligible; but itwas strangely pure and fair. "You would do for Philip, I do believe,"she thought, "if he could get you; but he will never get you." Aloudshe said nothing. By and by Lois returned to the book she had broughtin with her.

"Here are some words which I cannot read; they are not English. Whatare they?"

Mrs. Barclay read: "Le bon goût, les ris, l'aimable liberté. That is

French."

"What does it mean?"

"Good taste, laughter, and charming liberty. You do not know French?"

"O no," said Lois, with a sort of breath of longing. "French words comein quite often here, and I am always so curious to know what they mean."

"Very well, why not learn? I will teach you."

"O, Mrs. Barclay!" —

"It will give me the greatest pleasure. And it is very easy."

"O, I do not care about that," said Lois; "but I would be so glad toknow a little more than I do."

"You seem to me to have thought a good deal more than most girls ofyour age; and thought is better than knowledge."

"Ah, but one needs knowledge in order to think justly."

"An excellent remark! which – if you will for give me – I was making tomyself a few minutes ago."

"A few minutes ago? About what I said? O, but there I have knowledge," said Lois, smiling.

"You are sure of that?"

"Yes," said Lois, gravely now. "The Bible cannot be mistaken, Mrs.

Barclay."

"But your application of it?"

"How can that be mistaken? The words are plain."

"Pardon me. I was only venturing to think that you could have seenlittle, here in Shampuashuh, of the miseries of the world, and so knowlittle of the difficulty of getting rid of them, or of ministering tothem effectually."

"Not much," Lois agreed. "Yet I have seen so much done by peoplewithout means – I thought, those who have means might do more."

"What have you seen? Do tell me. Here I am ignorant; except in so faras I know what some large societies accomplish, and fail to accomplish."

"I have not seen much," Lois repeated. "But I know one person, afarmer's wife, no better off than a great many people here, who hasbrought up and educated a dozen girls who were friendless and poor."

"A dozen girls!" Mrs. Barclay echoed.

"I think there have been thirteen. She had no children of her own; shewas comfortably well off; and she took these girls, one after another, sometimes two or three together; and taught them and trained them, andfed and clothed them, and sent them to school; and kept them with heruntil one by one they married off. They all turned out well."

"I am dumb!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Giving money is one thing; I canunderstand that; but taking strangers' children into one's house andhome life – and a dozen strangers' children!"

"I know another woman, not so well off, who does her own work, as mostdo here; who goes to nurse any one she hears of that is sick and cannotafford to get help. She will sit up all night taking care of somebody, and then at break of the morning go home to make her own fire and gether own family's breakfast."

"But that is superb!" cried Mrs. Barclay.

"And my father," Lois went on, with a lowered voice, – "he was not verywell off, but he used to keep a certain little sum for lending; to lendto anybody that might be in great need; and generally, as soon as oneperson paid it back another person was in want of it."

"Was it always paid back?"

"Always; except, I think, at two times. Once the man died before hecould repay it. The other time it was lent to a woman, a widow; and shemarried again, and between the man and the woman my father never couldget his money. But it was made up to him another way. He lost nothing."

"You have been in a different school from mine, Lois," said Mrs.

Barclay. "I am filled with admiration."

"You see," Lois went on, "I thought, if with no money or opportunity tospeak of, one can do so much, what might be done if one had the powerand the will too?"

"But in my small experience it is by no means the rule, that money lentis honestly paid back again."

"Ah," said Lois, with an irradiating smile, "but this money was lent tothe Lord; I suppose that makes the difference."

"And are you bound to think well of no man but one who lives after thisexalted fashion? How will you ever get married, Lois?"

"I should not like to be married to this Duke of York the book tellsof; nor to the writer of the book," Lois said, smiling.

"That Duke of York was brother to the King of England."

"The King was worse yet! He was not even respectable."

"I believe you are right. Come – let us begin our French lessons."

With shy delight, Lois came near and followed with most eager attentionthe instructions of her friend. Mrs. Barclay fetched a volume ofFlorian's "Easy Writing"; and to the end of her life Lois will neverforget the opening sentences in which she made her first essay atFrench pronunciation, and received her first knowledge of what Frenchwords mean. "Non loin de la ville de Cures, dans le pays des Sabins, aumilieu d'une antique forêt, s'élève un temple consacré à Cérès." So itbegan; and the words had a truly witching interest for Lois.. But whileshe delightedly forgot all she had been talking about, Mrs. Barclay, not delightedly, recalled and went over it. Philip, Philip! your caseis dark! she was saying. And what am I about, trying to help you!