"Everything in the world, except that. People and things, and what thisone says and what that one did, and this party and that party. I can'ttell you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and yet it did notamount to much when all was done. I am not speaking of a few, gentlemenlike Mr. Dillwyn, and a few more."

"But he ain't a Christian?"

"No."

"Nor t'other one? the one you liked."

"No."

"I'm glad you've come away, Lois."

"Yes, grandma, and so am I; but why?"

"You know why. A Christian woman maunt have nothin' to do with men thatain't Christian."

"Nothing to do! Why, we must, grandma. We cannot help seeing people andtalking to them."

"The snares is laid that way," said Mrs. Armadale.

"What are we to do, then, grandmother?"

"Lois Lothrop," said the old lady, suddenly sitting upright, "what'sthe Lord's will?"

"About – what?"

"About drawin' in a yoke with one that don't go your way?"

"He says, don't do it."

"Then mind you don't."

"But, grandma, there is no talk of any such thing in this case," saidLois, half laughing, yet a little annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of sucha thing."

"You don' know what they was thinkin' of."

"I know what they could not have thought of. I am different fromthem; I am not of their world; and I am not educated, and I am poor.There is no danger, grandmother."

"Lois, child, you never know where danger is comin'. It's safe to haveyour armour on, and keep out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never letyourself like a man that ain't Christian!"

"But I might not be able to help liking him."

"Then promise me you'll never marry no sich a one."

"Grandma, I'm not thinking of marrying."

"Lois, what is the Lord's will about it?"

"I know, grandma," Lois answered rather soberly.

"And you know why. 'Thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, norhis daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn away thyson from following me, that they may serve other gods.' I've seen it,Lois, over and over agin. I've been a woman – or a man – witched away anddragged down, till if they hadn't lost all the godliness they ever had,it warn't because they didn't seem so. And the children grew up to bescapegraces.'"

"Don't it sometimes work the other way?"

"Not often, if a Christian man or woman has married wrong with theireyes open. Cos it proves, Lois, that proves, that the ungodly one ofthe two has the most power; and what he has he's like to keep. Lois, Imayn't be here allays to look after you; promise me that you'll do theLord's will."

"I hope I will, grandma," Lois answered soberly.

"Read them words in Corinthians again."

Lois got the Bible and obeyed, "'Be ye not unequally yoked togetherwith unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness withunrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and whatconcord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believethwith an infidel?'"

"Lois, ain't them words plain?"

"Very plain, grandma."

"Will ye mind 'em?"

"Yes, grandma; by his grace."

"Ay, ye may want it," said the old lady; "but it's safe to trust theLord. An' I'd rather have you suffer heartbreak follerin' the Lord, than goin' t'other way. Now you may read to me, Lois. We'll have itbefore they come home."

"Who has read to you while I have been gone?"

"O, one and another. Madge mostly; but Madge don't care, and so shedon' know how to read."

Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was the custom for one ofthe girls, Lois generally, to read her a verse or two morning andevening. Generally it was a small portion, talked over if they hadtime, and if not, then thought over by the old lady all the remainderof the day or evening, as the case might be. For she was like the manof whom it is written – "His delight is in the law of the Lord, and inhis law doth he meditate day and night."

"What shall I read, grandma?"

"You can't go wrong."

The epistle to the Corinthians lay open before Lois, and she read thewords following those which had just been called for.

"'And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are thetemple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, andwalk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.Wherefore come ye out from among them, and be ye separate, saith theLord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and willbe a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith theLord Almighty.'"

If anybody had been there to see, the two women made the loveliestpicture at this moment. The one of them old, weather-worn, plain-featured, sitting with the quiet calm of the end of a work dayand listening; the other young, blooming, fresh, lovely, with a wealthof youthful charms about her, bending a little over the big book on herlap; on both faces a reverent sweet gravity which was most gracious.Lois read and stopped, without looking up.

"I think small of all the world, alongside o' that promise, Lois."

"And so do I, grandmother."

"But, you see, the Lord's sons and daughters has got to be separatefrom other folks."

"In some ways."

"Of course they've got to live among folks, but they've got to beseparate for all; and keep their garments."

"I do not believe it is easy in a place like New York," said Lois.

"Seems to me I was getting all mixed up."

"'Tain't easy nowheres, child. Only, where the way is very smooth, folks slides quicker."

"How can one be 'separate' always, grandma, in the midst of otherpeople?"

"Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk with him; and you'll bepretty sure to be separate from the most o' folks."

There was no more said. Lois presently closed the book and laid itaway, and the two sat in silence awhile. I will not affirm that Loisdid not feel something of a stricture round her, since she had giventhat promise so clearly. Truly the promise altered nothing, it onlymade things somewhat more tangible; and there floated now and then pastLois's mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned with gracefullocks of luxuriant light brown hair, and a face of winningpleasantness, and eyes that looked eagerly into her eyes. It came upnow before her, this vision, with a certain sense of something lost.Not that she had ever reckoned that image as a thing won; as belonging,or ever possibly to belong, to herself; for Lois never had such athought for a moment. All the same came now the vision before her withthe commentary, – 'You never can have it. That acquain'tance, and thatfriendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the past; and whateverfor another it might have led to, it could lead to nothing for you.' Itwas not a defined thought; rather a floating semi-consciousness; andLois presently rose up and went from thought to action.

CHAPTER IX
THE FAMILY

The spring day was fading into the dusk of evening, when feet andvoices heard outside announced that the travellers were returning. Andin they came, bringing a breeze of business and a number of tied-upparcels with them into the quiet house.

"The table ready! how good! and the fire. O, it's Lois! Lois ishere!" – and then there were warm embraces, and then the old grandmotherwas kissed. There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall.

"I'm tired to death!" said the former of these. "Charity would do noend of work; you know she is a steam-engine, and she had the steam upto-day, I can tell you. There's no saying how good supper will be; forour lunch wasn't much, and not good at that; and there's something goodhere, I can tell by my nose. Did you take care of the milk, Lois? youcouldn't know where to set it."

"There is no bread, Lois. I suppose you found out?" the other sistersaid.

"O, she's made biscuits!" said Madge. "Aren't you a brick, though,

Lois! I was expecting we'd have everything to do; and it's all done.

Ain't that what you call comfortable? Is the tea made? I'll be ready in a minute."

But that was easier said than done.

"Lois! what sort of hats are they wearing in New York?"

"Lois, are mantillas fashionable? The woman in New Haven, the milliner, said everybody was going to wear them. She wanted to make me get one."

"We can make a mantilla as well as she can," Lois answered.

"If we had the pattern! But is everybody wearing them in New York?"

"I think it must be early for mantillas."

"O, lined and wadded, of course. But is every body wearing them?"

"I do not know. I do not recollect."

"Not recollect!" cried the tall sister. "What are your eyes good for?

What do people wear?"

"I wore my coat and cape. I do not know very well about other people.

People wear different things."

"O, but that they do not, Lois!" the other sister exclaimed. "There isalways one thing that is the fashion; and that is the thing one wantsto know about. Last year it was visites. Now what is it this year? Andwhat are the hats like?"

"They are smaller."

"There! And that woman in New Haven said they were going to be largestill. Who is one to trust!"

"You may trust me," said Lois. "I am sure of so much. Moreover, thereis my new straw bonnet which Mrs. Wishart gave me; you can see by that."

This was very satisfactory; and talk ran on in the same line for sometime.

"And Lois, have you seen a great many people? At Mrs. Wishart's, Imean."

"Yes, plenty; at her house and at other houses."

"Was it great fun?" Madge asked.

"Sometimes. But indeed, yes; it was great fun generally, to see thedifferent ways of people, and the beautiful houses, and furniture, andpictures, and everything."

"Everything! Was everything beautiful?"

"No, not beautiful; but everything in most of the houses where I wentwas handsome; often it was magnificent."

"I suppose it seemed so to you," said Charity.

"Tell us, Lois!" urged the other sister.

"What do you think of solid silver dishes to hold the vegetables on thetable, and solid silver pudding dishes, and gold teaspoons, in the mostdelicate little painted cups?"

"I should say it was ridiculous," said the elder sister. "What's theuse o' havin' your vegetables in silver dishes?"

"What's the use of having them in dishes at all?" laughed Lois. "Theymight be served in big cabbage leaves; or in baskets."

"That's nonsense," said Charity. "Of course they must be in dishes ofsome sort; but vegetables don't taste any better out o' silver."

"The dinner does not taste any better," said Lois, "but it looks adeal better, I can tell you. You have just no idea, girls, howbeautiful a dinner table can be. The glass is beautiful; delicate, thin, clear glass, cut with elegant flowers and vines running over it.And the table linen is a pleasure to see, just the damask; it is sowhite, and so fine, and so smooth, and woven in such lovely designs.Mrs. Wishart is very fond of her table linen, and has it in beautifulpatterns. Then silver is always handsome. Then sometimes there is amost superb centre-piece to the table; a magnificent tall thing ofsilver – I don't know what to call it; not a vase, and not a dish; buthigh, and with different bowls or shells filled with flowers and fruit.Why the mere ice-creams sometimes were in all sorts of pretty flowerand fruit forms."

"Ice-cream!" cried Madge.

"And I say, what's the use of all that?" said Charity, who had not beenbaptized in character.

"The use is, its looking so very pretty," Lois answered.

"And so, I suppose you would like to have your vegetables in silverdishes? I should like to know why things are any better for lookingpretty, when all's done?"

"They are not better, I suppose," said Madge.

"I don't know why, but I think they must be," said Lois, innocent ofthe personal application which the other two were making. For Madge wasa very handsome girl, while Charity was hard-favoured, like hergrandmother. "It does one good to see pretty things."

"That's no better than pride," said Charity. "Things that ain't prettyare just as useful, and more useful. That's all pride, silver dishes, and flowers, and stuff. It just makes people stuck-up. Don't they thinkthemselves, all those grand folks, don't they think themselves a hitchor two higher than Shampuashuh folks?"

"Perhaps," said Lois; "but I do not know, so I cannot say."

"O Lois," cried Madge, "are the people very nice?"

"Some of them."

"You haven't lost your heart, have you?"

"Only part of it."

"Part of it! O, to whom, Lois? Who is it?"

"Mrs. Wishart's black horses."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Charity. "Haven't Shampuashuh folks got horses?

Don't tell me!"

"But, Lois!" pursued Madge, "who was the nicest person you saw?"

"Madge, I don't know. A good many seemed to be nice."

"Well, who was the handsomest? and who was the cleverest? and who wasthe kindest to you? I don't mean Mrs. Wishart. Now answer."

"The handsomest, and the cleverest, and the kindest to me?" Loisrepeated slowly. "Well, let me see. The handsomest was a Mr. Caruthers."

"Who's he?"

"Mr. Caruthers."

"What is he, then?"

"He is a gentleman, very much thought of; rich, and knows everybody; that's about all I can tell."

"Was he the cleverest, too, that you saw?"

"No, I think not."

"Who was that?"

"Another gentleman; a Mr. Dillwyn."

"Dillun!" Madge repeated.

"That is the pronunciation of the name. It is spelt D, i, l, l, w, y,n, – Dilwin; but it is called Dillun."

"And who was kindest to you? Go on, Lois."

"O, everybody was kind to me," Lois said evasively. "Kind enough. I didnot need kindness."

"Whom did you like best, then?"

"Of those two? They are both men of the world, and nothing to me; butof the two, I think I like the first best."

"Caruthers. I shall remember," said Madge.

"That is foolish talk, children," remarked Mrs. Armadale.

"Yes, but grandma, you know children are bound to be foolishsometimes," returned Madge.

"And then the rod of correction must drive it far from them," said theold lady. "That's the common way; but it ain't the easiest way. Loissaid true; these people are nothing and can be nothing to her. Iwouldn't make believe anything about it, if I was you."

The conversation changed to other things. And soon took a fresh springat the entrance of another of the family, an aunt of the girls; wholived in the neighbourhood, and came in to hear the news from New Havenas well as from New York. And then it knew no stop. While the table wasclearing, and while Charity and Madge were doing up the dishes, andwhen they all sat down round the fire afterwards, there went on aceaseless, restless, unending flow of questions, answers, and comments; going over, I am bound to say, all the ground already travelled duringsupper. Mrs. Armadale sometimes sighed to herself; but this, if theothers heard it, could not check them.

Mrs. Marx was a lively, clever, kind, good-natured woman; with plentyof administrative ability, like so many New England women, full ofresources; quick with her head and her hands, and not slow with hertongue; an uneducated woman, and yet one who had made such good use oflife-schooling, that for all practical purposes she had twice the witof many who have gone through all the drill of the best institutions. Akeen eye, a prompt judgment, and a fearless speech, all belonged toMrs. Marx; universally esteemed and looked up to and welcomed by allher associates. She was not handsome; she was even strikingly deficientin the lines of beauty; and refinement was not one of hercharacteristics, other than the refinement which comes of kindness andunselfishness. Mrs. Marx would be delicately careful of another'sfeelings, when there was real need; she could show an exceeding greattenderness and tact then; while in ordinary life her voice was ratherloud, her movements were free and angular, and her expressions veryunconstrained. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Marx anything but neat, whatevershe possibly might be doing; in other respects her costume was oftenextremely unconventional; but she could dress herself nicely and lookquite as becomes a lady. Independent was Mrs. Marx, above all and ineverything.

"I guess she's come back all safe!" was her comment, made to Mrs.Armadale, at the conclusion of the long talk. Mrs. Armadale made noanswer.

"It's sort o' risky, to let a young thing like that go off by herselfamong all those highflyers. It's like sendin' a pigeon to sail aboutwith the hawks."

"Why, aunt Anne," said Lois at this, "whom can you possibly mean by thehawks?"

"The sort o' birds that eat up pigeons."

"I saw nobody that wanted to eat me up, I assure you."

"There's the difference between you and a real pigeon. The pigeon knowsthe hawk when she sees it; you don't."

"Do you think the hawks all live in cities?"

"No, I don't," said Mrs. Marx. "They go swoopin' about in the countrynow and then. I shouldn't a bit wonder to see one come sailin' over ourheads one of these fine days. But now, you see, grandma has got youunder her wing again." Mrs. Marx was Mrs. Armadale's half-daughteronly, and sometimes in company of others called her as hergrandchildren did. "How does home look to you, Lois, now you're back init?"

"Very much as it used to look," Lois answered, smiling.

"The taste ain't somehow taken out o' things? Ha' you got your oldappetite for common doin's?"

"I shall try to-morrow. I am going out into the garden to get some peasin."

"Mine is in."

"Not long, aunt Anne? the frost hasn't been long out of the ground."

"Put 'em in to-day, Lois. And your garden has the sun on it; so Ishouldn't wonder if you beat me after all. Well, I must go along andlook arter my old man. He just let me run away now 'cause I told him Iwas kind o' crazy about the fashions; and he said 'twas a feminineweakness and he pitied me. So I come. Mrs. Dashiell has been a week toNew London; but la! New London bonnets is no account."

"You don't get much light from Lois," remarked Charity.

"No. Did ye learn anything, Lois, while you was away?"

"I think so, aunt Anne."

"What, then? Let's hear. Learnin' ain't good for much, without you giveit out."

Lois, however, seemed not inclined to be generous with her stores ofnew knowledge.

"I guess she's learned Shampuashuh ain't much of a place," the eldersister remarked further.

"She's been spellin' her lesson backwards, then. Shampuashuh's afirst-rate place."

"But we've no grand people here. We don't eat off silver dishes, nordrink out o' gold spoons; and our horses can go without littlelookin'-glasses over their heads," Charity proceeded.

"Do you think there's any use in all that, Lois?" said her aunt.

"I don't know, aunt Anne," Lois answered with a little hesitation.

"Then I'm sorry for ye, girl, if you are left to think such nonsense.Ain't our victuals as good here, as what comes out o' those silverdishes?"

"Not always."

"Are New York folks better cooks than we be?"

"They have servants that know how to do things."

"Servants! Don't tell me o' no servants' doin's! What can they makethat I can't make better?"

"Can you make a soufflé, aunt Anne?"

"What's that?"

"Or biscuit glacé?"

"Biskwee glassy?" repeated the indignant Shampuashuh lady. "What doyou mean, Lois? Speak English, if I am to understand you."

"These things have no English names."

"Are they any the better for that?"

"No; and nothing could make them better. They are as good as it ispossible for anything to be; and there are a hundred other thingsequally good, that we know nothing about here."

"I'd have watched and found out how they were done," said the elderwoman, eyeing Lois with a mingled expression of incredulity andcuriosity and desire, which it was comical to see. Only nobody thereperceived the comicality. They sympathized too deeply in the feeling.

"I would have watched," said Lois; "but I could not go down into thekitchen for it."

"Why not?"

"Nobody goes into the kitchen, except to give orders."

"Nobody goes into the kitchen!" cried Mrs. Marx, sinking down againinto a chair. She had risen to go.

"I mean, except the servants."

"It's the shiftlessest thing I ever heard o' New York. And do you thinkthat's a nice way o' livin', Lois?"

"I am afraid I do, aunt Anne. It is pleasant to have plenty of time forother things."

"What other things?"

"Reading."

"Reading! La, child! I can read more books in a year than is good forme, and do all my own work, too. I like play, as well as other folks; but I like to know my work's done first. Then I can play."

"Well, there the servants do the work."

"And you like that? That ain't a nat'ral way o' livin', Lois; and Ibelieve it leaves folks too much time to get into mischief. When folkshasn't business enough of their own to attend to, they're free to puttheir fingers in other folks' business. And they get sot up, besides.My word for it, it ain't healthy for mind nor body. And you needn'tthink I'm doin' what I complain of, for your business is my business.Good-bye, girls. I'll buy a cook-book the next time I go to New London, and learn how to make suflles. Lois shan't hold that whip over me."