Mrs. Barclay seemed to have entirely regained her usual composure andeven her usual spirits, which indeed were never high. She said sheenjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in company, Madge having gonewith her grandmother and Charity in Mrs. Marx's waggon. The winterevening was falling grey, and the grey was growing dark; and there wassomething in the dusky stillness, and soft, half-defined lines of thelandscape, with the sharp, crisp air, which suited the mood of bothladies. The stars were not visible yet; the western horizon had still aglow left from the sunset; and houses and trees stood like dark solemnghosts along the way before the end of the walk was reached. Theytalked hardly at all, but Mrs. Barclay said when she got to Mrs.Marx's, that the walk had been delightful.

At Mrs. Marx's all was in holiday perfection of order; though that wasthe normal condition of things, indeed, where that lady ruled. Thepaint of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets were thick andbright; the table was set with great care; the great chimney in theupper kitchen where the supper was prepared, was magnificent with itsblazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best parlour, where theguests were first received; but supper was ready, and they adjourned tothe next room. There the table invited them most hospitably, loadedwith dainties such as people in the country can get at Christmas time.One item of the entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a roastpig; its brown and glossy back making a very conspicuous object at oneside of the board.

"I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the satisfied hostess; forshe knew the pig was done to a turn; "and anything you don't expecttastes twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n anything; and Ithink myself it's about the top sheaf. I suppose nothin' can be asurprise to Mrs. Barclay."

"Why do you suppose so?" asked that lady.

"I thought you'd seen everything there was in the world, and a littlemore."

"Never saw a roast pig before in my life. But I have read of them."

"Read of them!" exclaimed their hostess. "In a cook-book, likely?"

"Alas! I never read a cook-book."

"No more didn't I; but you'll excuse me, I didn't believe you carriedit all in your head, like we folks."

"I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean the art of cookery. Ihave a profound respect for it; but I know nothing about it whatever."

"Well, you're right to have a respect for it. Uncle Tim, do you justgive Mrs. Barclay some of the best of that pig, and let us see how shelikes it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; and plenty of thecrackle. Mother, it's done just as you used to do it."

Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. Mrs. Armadale sat at theend of the table; placid and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclayher aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did not smile much, yet shelooked kindly over her assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother;Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent New England mingling of theshrewd and the benevolent in his face; and he was a much more jollypersonage than his sister; younger than she, too, and still vigorous.Unlike her, also, he was a handsome man; had been very handsome in hisyoung days; and, as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over the table, shethought few could show a better assemblage of comeliness than wasgathered round this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in herwell-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain brown stuff seemresplendent; she had a little fleecy white woollen shawl wound abouther shoulders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes away fromthe girl. And if the other members of the party were less beautiful infeature, they had every one of them in a high degree the stamp ofintellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay speculated upon the strangesociety in which she found herself; upon the odd significance of herbeing there; and on the possible outcome, weighty and incalculable, ofthe connection of the two things. So intently that she almost forgotwhat she was eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's suddenquestion – "Well, how do you like it? Charity, give Mrs. Barclay somepickles – what she likes; there's sweet pickle, that's peaches; andsharp pickle, that's red cabbage; and I don' know which of 'em shelikes best; and give her some apple – have you got any apple sauce, Mrs.Barclay?"

"Thank you, everything; and everything is delicious."

"That's how things are gen'ally, in Mrs. Marx's hands," remarked uncle

Tim. "There ain't her beat for sweets and sours in all the country."

"Mrs. Barclay's accustomed to another sort o' doings," said theirhostess. "I didn't know but she mightn't like our ways."

"I like them very much, I assure you."

"There ain't no better ways than Shampuashuh ways," said uncle Tim. "Ifthere be, I'd like to see 'em once. Lois, you never see a handsomerdinner'n this in New York, did you? Come now, and tell. Did you?"

"I never saw a dinner where things were better of their kind, uncle

Tim."

Mrs. Barclay smiled to herself. That will do, she thought.

"Is that an answer?" said uncle Tim. "I'll be shot if I know."

"It is as good an answer as I can give," returned Lois, smiling.

"Of course she has seen handsomer!" said Mrs. Marx. "If you talk ofelegance, we don't pretend to it in Shampuashuh. Be thankful if whatyou have got is good, uncle Tim; and leave the rest."

"Well, I don't understand," responded uncle Tim. "Why shouldn'tShampuashuh be elegant, I don't see? Ain't this elegant enough foranybody?"

"'Tain't elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. "If this was in one o' theelegant places, there'd be a bunch o' flowers in the pig's mouth, and aring on his tail."

At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's gravity gave way; anda perfect echo of laughter went round the table.

"Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at nor what you mean," saidthe object of their merriment; "but I should uncommonly like to know."

"Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, "what a dinner in New York is like. Younever did tell him."

"Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentleman. "I thought a dinnerwas a dinner; but I'm willin' to learn."

"Tell him, Lois!" Madge repeated.

"It would be very stupid for Mrs. Barclay," Lois objected.

"On the contrary!" said that lady. "I should very much like to hearyour description. It is interesting to hear what is familiar to usdescribed by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois."

"I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim," said Lois, after a moment ofconsideration. "All dinners in New York, you must understand, are notlike this; this was a grand dinner."

"Christmas eve?" suggested uncle Tim.

"No. I was not there at Christmas; this was just a party. There weretwelve at table.

"In the first place, there was an oval plate of looking-glass, as longas this table – not quite so broad – that took up the whole centre of thetable." Here Lois was interrupted.

"Looking-glass!" cried uncle Tim.

"Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?" said Charity.

"Looking-glass to set the hot dishes on?" said Mrs. Marx, to whom thisstory seemed new.

"No; not to set anything on. It took up the whole centre of the table.Round the edge of this looking-glass, all round, was a border or littlefence of solid silver, about six or eight inches high; of beautifulwrought open-work; and just within this silver fence, at intervals, stood most exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot and ahalf high. There must have been a dozen of them; and anything morebeautiful than the whole thing was, you cannot imagine."

"I should think they'd have been awfully in the way," remarked Charity.

"Not at all; there was room enough all round outside for the plates andglasses."

"The looking-glass, I suppose, was for the pretty ladies to seethemselves in!"

"Quite mistaken, uncle Tim; one could not see the reflection ofoneself; only bits of one's opposite neighbours; little flashes ofcolour here and there; and the reflection of the statuettes on thefurther side; it was prettier than ever you can think."

"I reckon it must ha' been; but I don't see the use of it," said uncle

Tim.

"That wasn't all," Lois went on. "Everybody had his own salt-cellar."

"Table must ha' been full, I should say."

"No, it was not full at all; there was plenty of room for everything, and that allowed every pretty thing to be seen. And those salt-cellarswere a study. They were delicious little silver figures – every onedifferent from the others – and each little figure presented the salt insomething. Mine was a little girl, with her apron all gathered up, asif to hold nuts or apples, and the salt was in her apron. The one nextto her was a market-woman with a flat basket on her head, and the saltwas in the basket. Another was a man bowing, with his hat in his hand; the salt was in the hat. I could not see them all, but each one seemedprettier than the other. One was a man standing by a well, with abucket drawn up, but full of salt, not water. A very pretty one was amilkman with a pail."

Uncle Tim was now reduced to silence, but Charity remarked that shecould not understand where the dishes were – the dinner.

"It was somewhere else. It was not on the table at all. The waitersbrought the things round. There were six waiters, handsomely dressed inblack, and with white silk gloves."

"White silk gloves!" echoed Charity. "Well, I do think the way somepeople live is just a sin and a shame!"

"How did you know what there was for dinner?" inquired Mrs. Marx now."I shouldn't like to make my dinner of boiled beef, if there waspartridges comin'. And when there's plum-puddin' I always like to knowit beforehand."

"We knew everything beforehand, aunt Anne. There were beautifullypainted little pieces of white silk on everybody's plate, with all thedishes named; only many, most of them, were French names, and I wasnone the wiser for them."

"Can't they call good victuals by English names?" asked uncle Tim.

"What's the sense o' that? How was anybody to know what he was eatin'?"

"O they all knew," said Lois. "Except me."

"I'll bet you were the only sensible one o' the lot," said the oldgentleman.

"Then at every plate there was a beautiful cut glass bottle, somethinglike a decanter, with ice water, and over the mouth of it a tumbler tomatch. Besides that, there were at each plate five or six other gobletsor glasses, of different colours."

"What colours?" demanded Charity.

"Yellow, and dark red, and green, and white."

"What were they all for?" asked uncle Tim.

"Wine; different sorts of wine."

"Different sorts o' wine! How many sorts did they have, at one dinner?"

"I cannot tell you. I do not know. A great many."

"Did you drink any, Lois?"

"No, aunt Anne."

"I suppose they thought you were a real country girl, because youdidn't?"

"Nobody thought anything about it. The servants brought the wine; everybody did just as he pleased about taking it."

"What did you have to eat, Lois, with so much to drink?" asked herelder sister.

"More than I can tell, Charity. There must have been a dozen largedishes, at each end of the table, besides the soup and the fish; and noend of smaller dishes."

"For a dozen people!" cried Charity.

"I suppose it's because I don't know anythin'," said Mr.Hotchkiss, – "but I always du hate to see a whole lot o' things beforeme more'n I can eat!"

"It's downright wicked waste, that's what I call it," said Mrs. Marx;"but I s'pose that's because I don't know anythin'."

"And you like that sort o' way better 'n this 'n?" inquired uncle Timof Lois.

"I said no more than that it was prettier, uncle Tim."

"But du ye?"

Lois's eye met involuntarily Mrs. Barclay's for an instant, and shesmiled.

"Uncle Tim, I think there is something to be said on both sides."

"There ain't no sense on that side."

"There is some prettiness; and I like prettiness."

"Prettiness won't butter nobody's bread. Mother, you've let Lois goonce too often among those city folks. She's nigh about sp'iled for aShampuashuh man now."

"Perhaps a Shampuashuh man will not get her," said Mrs. Barclaymischievously.

"Who else is to get her?" cried Mrs. Marx. "We're all o' one sort here; and there's hardly a man but what's respectable, and very few thatain't more or less well-to-do; but we all work and mean to work, and wemostly all know our own mind. I do despise a man who don't do nothin',and who asks other folks what he's to think!"

"That sort of person is not held in very high esteem in any society, Ibelieve," said Mrs. Barclay courteously; though she was much amused, and was willing for her own reasons that the talk should go a littlefurther. Therefore she spoke.

"Well, idleness breeds 'em," said the other lady.

"But who respects them?"

"The world'll respect anybody, even a man that goes with his hands inhis pockets, if he only can fetch 'em out full o' money. There was sucha feller hangin' round Appledore last summer. My! didn't he try mypatience!"

"Appledore?" said Lois, pricking up her ears.

"Yes; there was a lot of 'em."

"People who did not know their own minds?" Mrs. Barclay asked, purposely and curiously.

"Well, no, I won't say that of all of 'em. There was some of 'em knewtheir own minds a'most too well; but he warn't one. He come to meonce to help him out; and I filled his pipe for him, and sent him tosmoke it."

"Aunt Anne!" said Lois, drawing up her pretty figure with a mostunwonted assumption of astonished dignity. Both the dignity and theastonishment drew all eyes upon her. She was looking at Mrs. Marx witheyes full of startled displeasure. Mrs. Marx was entrenched behind awhole army of coffee and tea pots and pitchers, and answered coolly.

"Yes, I did. What is it to you? Did he come to you for help too?"

"I do not know whom you are talking of."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Marx. "I thought you did. Before I'd have you marrysuch a soft feller as that, I'd – I'd shoot him!"

There was some laughter, but Lois did not join in it, and withheightened colour was attending very busily to her supper.

"Was the poor man looking that way?" asked Mrs. Barclay.

"He was lookin' two ways," said Mrs. Marx; "and when a man's doin'that, he don't fetch up nowhere, you bet. I'd like to know what becomesof him! They were all of the sort Lois has been tellin' of; thought adeal o' 'prettiness.' I do think, the way some people live, is a way toshame the flies; and I don't know nothin' in creation more useless thanthey be!"

Mrs. Marx could speak better English, but the truth was, when she gotmuch excited she forgot her grammar.

"But at a watering-place," remarked Mrs. Barclay, "you do not expectpeople to show their useful side. They are out for play and amusement."

"I can play too," said the hostess; "but my play always has somemeaning to it. Did I tell you, mother, what that lady was doing?"

"I thought you were speaking of a gentleman," said quiet Mrs. Armadale.

"Well, there was a lady too; and she was doin' a piece o' work. It wasa beautiful piece of grey satin; thick and handsome as you ever see; and she was sewin' gold thread upon it with fine gold-coloured silk; fine gold thread; and it went one way straight and another way round, curling and crinkling, like nothin' on earth but a spider's web; allover the grey satin. I watched her a while, and then, says I, 'What areyou doin', if you please? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't makeout.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover for a bellows.' 'Fora what?' says I. 'For a bellows,' says she; 'a bellows, to blow thefire with. Don't you know what they are?' 'Yes,' says I; 'I've seen afire bellows before now; but in our part o' the country we don't cover'em with satin.' 'No,' says she, 'I suppose not.' 'I would just like toask one more question,' says I. 'Well, you may,' says she; 'what isit?' 'I would just like to know,' says I, 'what the fire is made ofthat you blow with a satin and gold bellows?' And she laughed a little.' 'Cause,' says I, 'it ought to be somethin' that won't soil a kidglove and that won't give out no sparks nor smoke.' 'O,' says she,'nobody really blows the fire; only the bellows have come into fashion, along with the fire-dogs, wherever people have an open fireplace anda wood fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't guess; but Ithought I wouldn't expose any more o' my ignorance. Now, mother, howwould you like to have Lois in a house like that? – where people don'tknow any better what to do with their immortal lives than to make satincovers for bellows they don't want to blow the fire with! and dish updinner enough for twelve people, to feed a hundred?"

"Lois will never be in a house like that," responded the old ladycontentedly.

"Then it's just as well if you keep her away from the places where theymake so much of prettiness, I can tell you. Lois is human."

"Lois is Christian," said Mrs. Armadale; "and she knows her duty."

"Well, it's heart-breakin' work, to know one's duty, sometimes," said

Mrs. Marx.

"But you do not think, I hope, that one is a pattern for all?" saidMrs. Barclay. "There are exceptions; it is not everybody in the greatworld that lives to no purpose."

"If that's what you call the great world, I call it mighty small, then. If I didn't know anything better to do with myself than to worksprangles o' gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', I'd godown to Fairhaven and hire myself out to open oysters! and think I madeby the bargain. Anyhow, I'd respect myself better."

"I don't know what you mean by the great world," said uncle Tim. "Bethere two on 'em – a big and a little?"

"Don't you see, all Shampuashuh would go in one o' those houses Loiswas tellin' about! and if it got there, I expect they wouldn't give ithouse-room."

"The worlds are not so different as you think," Mrs. Barclay went oncourteously. "Human nature is the same everywhere."

"Well, I guess likely," responded Mrs. Marx. "Mother, if you've done,we'll go into the other."

CHAPTER XXVI
SCRUPLES

The next day was Christmas; but in the country of Shampuashuh,Christmas, though a holiday, was not held in so high regard as itreceives in many other quarters of the earth. There was no service inthe church; and after dinner Lois came as usual to draw in Mrs.Barclay's room.

"I did not understand some of your aunt's talk last evening," Mrs.

Barclay remarked after a while.

"I am not surprised at that," said Lois.

"Did you?"

"O yes. I understand aunt Anne."

"Does she really think that all the people who like pretty things, lead useless lives?"

"She does not care so much about pretty things as I do," said Loisslightly.

"But does she think all who belong to the 'great world' are evil? givenup to wickedness?"

"Not so bad as that," Lois answered, smiling; "but naturally aunt Annedoes not understand any world but this of Shampuashuh."

"I understood her to assume that under no circumstances could you marryone of the great world she was talking of?"

"Well," said Lois, "I suppose she thinks that one of them would not bea Christian."

"You mean, an enthusiast."

"No," said Lois; "but I mean, and she means, one who is in heart a trueservant of Christ. He might, or he might not, be enthusiastic."

"And would you marry no one who was not a Christian, as you understandthe word?"

"The Bible forbids it," said Lois, her colour rising a little.

"The Bible forbids it? I have not studied the Bible like you; but Ihave heard it read from the pulpit all my life; and I never heard, either from the pulpit or out of it, such an idea, as that one who is aChristian may not marry one who is not."

"I can show you the command – in more places than one," said Lois.

"I wish you would."

Lois left her drawing and fetched a Bible.

"It is forbidden in the Old Testament and in the New," she said; "but Iwill show you a place in the New. Here it is – in the second Epistle tothe Corinthians – 'Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers;'and it goes on to give the reason."

"Unbelievers! But those, in that day, were heathen."

"Yes," said Lois simply, going on with her drawing.

"There are no heathen now, – not here."

"I suppose that makes no difference. It is the party which will notobey and serve Christ; and which is working against him. In that daythey worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they worship a differentsort. They do not worship him; and there are but two parties."

"No neutrals?"

"No. The Bible says not."

"But what is being 'yoked together'? what do you understand isforbidden by that? Marriage?"

"Any connection, I suppose," said Lois, looking up, "in which twopeople are forced to pull together. You know what a 'yoke' is?"

"And you can smile at that, you wicked girl?"

Lois laughed now. "Why not?" she said. "I have not much fancy forputting my head in a yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pulldifferent ways must be very miserable!"

"You forget; you might draw somebody else to go the right way."

"That would depend upon who was the strongest."

"True," said Mrs. Barclay. "But, my dear Lois! you do not suppose thata man cannot belong to the world and yet be what you call a Christian?That would be very uncharitable."

"I do not want to be uncharitable," said Lois. "Mrs. Barclay, it isextremely difficult to mark the foliage of different sorts of trees!"

"Yes, but you are making a very good beginning. Lois, do you know, youare fitting to be the wife of just one of that world you arecondemning-cultivated, polished, full of accomplishments and graces, and fine and refined tastes."

"Then he would be very dangerous," said Lois, "if he were not a

Christian. He might have all that, and yet be a Christian too."

"Suppose he were not; would you refuse him?"

"I hope I should," said Lois. But her questioner noticed that thisanswer was soberly given.

That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the letter said, "that I haveknown for a very long time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought toconfess it; whether I ought not to declare myself tired of Shampuashuh, and throw up my cards. I feel a little like an honest swindler, usingyour money, not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I shouldnever get tired of the place or the people. Everyone of them, indeedalmost every one that I see, is a character; and here, where there isless varnish, the grain of the wood shows more plainly. I have had amost original carpenter here to measure for my book-shelves, onlyyesterday; for my room is running over with books. Not only everybodyis a character, but nearly everybody has a good mixture of what isadmirable in his composition; and as for these two girls – well, I ameven more in love than you are, Philip. The elder is the handsomer, perhaps; she is very handsome; but your favourite is my favourite. Loisis lovely. There is a strange, fresh, simple, undefinable charm aboutthe girl that makes one her captive. Even me, a woman. She wins upon medaily with her sweet unconscious ways. But nevertheless I am uneasywhen I remember what I am here for, and what you are expecting. I fearI am acting the part of an innocent swindler, as I said; little better.

"In one way there is no disappointment to be looked for. These girlsare both gifted with a great capacity and aptitude for mental growth.Lois especially, for she cares more to go into the depths of things; but both of them grow fast, and I can see the change almost from day today. Tastes are waking up, and eager for gratification; there is nolimit to the intellectual hunger or the power of assimilation; thewinter is one of very great enjoyment to them (as to me!), and thereis, and that has been from the first, a refinement of manner whichsurprised me, but that too is growing. And yet, with all this, whichpromises so much, there is another element which threatens discomfitureto our hopes. I must not conceal it from you. These people are regularPuritans. They think now, in this age of the world, to regulate theirbehaviour entirely by the Bible. You are of a different type; and I ampersuaded that the whole family would regard an alliance with a manlike you as an unlawful thing; ay, though he were a prince or aRothschild, it would make no difference in their view of the thing. Forhere is independence, pure and absolute. The family is very poor; theyare glad of the money I pay them; but they would not bend their headsbefore the prestige of wealth, or do what they think wrong to gain anyhuman favour or any earthly advantage. And Lois is like the rest; quiteas firm; in fact, some of these gentlewomen have a power of saying 'no'which is only a little less than fearful. I cannot tell what love woulddo; but I do not believe it would break down her principle. We had atalk lately on this very subject; she was very firm.

"I think I ought not to conceal from you that I have doubts on anotherquestion. We were at a family supper party last night at an aunt'shouse. She is a character too; a kind of a grenadier of a woman, innature, not looks. The house and the entertainment were veryinteresting to me; the mingling of things was very striking, that onedoes not expect to find in connection. For instance, the appointmentsof the table were, as of course they would be, of no pretension tostyle or elegance; clumsily comfortable, was all you could say. And thecooking was delicately fine. Then, manners and language were somewhatlacking in polish, to put it mildly; and the tone of thought and thequalities of mind and character exhibited were very far above what Ihave heard often in circles of great pretension. Once the conversationgot upon the contrasting ways of life in this society and in what iscalled the world; the latter, I confess to you, met with some hardtreatment; and the idea was rejected with scorn that one of the girlsshould ever be tempted out of her own sphere into the other. All thisis of no consequence; but what struck me was a hint or two that Loishad been tempted; and a pretty plain assertion that this aunt, who itseems was at Appledore last summer nursing Mrs. Wishart, had receivedsome sort of overture or advance on Lois's behalf, and had rejected it.This was evidently news to Lois; and she showed so much startleddispleasure – in her face, for she said almost nothing – that thesuspicion was forced upon me, there might have been more in the matterthan the aunt knew. Who was at Appledore? a friend of yours, was itnot? and are you sure he did not gain some sort of lien upon thisheart which you are so keen to win? I owe it to you to set you uponthis inquiry; for if I know anything of the girl, she is as true and asunbending as steel. What she holds she will hold; what she loves shewill love, I believe, to the end. So, before we go any further, let usfind whether we have ground to go on. No, I would not have you comehere at present. Not in any case; and certainly not in thisuncertain'ty. You are too wise to wish it."

Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was too wise to give therein to his wishes. He stayed in New York all winter, contentinghimself with sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing that couldmake Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant, or help her to make it usefulto her two young friends. A fine Chickering piano arrived betweenChristmas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for itbetween the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of allsorts – science and art, history and biography, poetry and generalliterature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not thepiano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs.Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclayasked casually one day "Shall I teach you?"

"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flushof excitement.

"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at leastenough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you avoice?"

"I do not know what you would call a voice," said Lois, smiling.

"But you sing?"

"Hymns. Nothing else."

"Have you a hymn-book? with music, I mean?"

Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the accompaniment of a familiarhymn, and Lois sang.

"My dear," exclaimed the former when she had done, "that is delicious!"

"Is it?"

"Your voice is very fine; it has a peculiar and uncommon richness. Youmust let me train that voice."

"I should like to sing hymns as well as I can," Lois answered, flushing somewhat.

"You would like to sing other things, too."

"Songs?"

"Yes. Some songs are beautiful."

"I never liked much those I have heard."

"Why not?"

"They seemed rather foolish."

"Did they! The choice must have been unfortunate. Where did you hearthem?"

"In New York. In company there. The voices were sometimes delightful; but the words – "

"Well, the words?"

"I wondered how they could like to sing them. There was nothing in thembut nonsense."

"You are a very severe critic!"

"No," said Lois deprecatingly; "but I think hymns are so much better."

"Well, we will see. Songs are not the first thing; your voice must betrained."

So a new element came into the busy life of that winter; and music nowmade demands on time and attention which Lois found it a littledifficult to meet, without abridging the long reading hours anddiligent studies to which she had hitherto been giving all her sparetime. But the piano was so alluring! And every morsel of real musicthat Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. To Lois; Madge didnot care about it, except for the wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay'sfingers fly over the keys; and Charity took quite a different viewagain.

"Mother," she said one evening to the old lady, whom they often calledso, "don't it seem to you that Lois is gettin' turned round?"

"How, my dear?"

"Well, it ain't like the Lois we used to have. She's rushin' at booksfrom morning to night, or scritch-scratching on a slate; and the resto' the time she's like nothin' but the girl in the song, that had'bells on her fingers and rings on her toes.' I hear that piano-fortygoing at all hours; it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's thegood of all that?"

"What's the harm?" said Lois.

"What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud think she had come herejust on purpose to teach Madge and you; for she don't do anything else.What's it all for? that's what I'd like to be told."