Queechy Volume I Part 11

They descended the mountain now with a hasty step, for the day was wearing well on. At the spot where he had stood so long when they went up, Mr. Carleton paused again for a minute. In mountain scenery every hour makes a change. The sun was lower now, the lights and shadows more strongly contrasted, the sky of a yet calmer blue, cool and clear towards the horizon. The scene said still the same that it had said a few hours before, with a touch more of sadness; it seemed to whisper, "All things have an end ? thy time may not be for ever ? do what thou wouldest do ? 'while ye have light, believe in the light, that ye may be children of the light.' "

Whether Mr. Carleton read it so or not, he stood for a minute motionless, and went down the mountain looking so grave, that Fleda did not venture to speak to him till they reached the neighbourhood of the spring.

"What are you searching for, Miss Fleda?" said her friend.

She was making a busy quest here and there by the side of the little stream.

"I was looking to see if I could find a mullein leaf," said Fleda.

"A mullein leaf? what do you want it for?"

"I want it ? to make a drinking-cup of," said Fleda, her intent bright eyes peering keenly about in every direction.

"A mullein leaf! that is too rough; one of these golden leaves ? what are they? ? will do better, wont it?"

"That is hickory," said Fleda. " No; the mullein leaf is the best because it holds the water so nicely. ? Here it is."

And folding up one of the largest leaves into a most artist- like cup, she presented it to Mr. Carleton.

"For me was all that trouble?" said he. "I don't deserve it."

"You wanted something, Sir," said Fleda. "The water is very cold and nice."

He stooped to the bright little stream, and filled his rural goblet several times.

"I never knew what it was to have a fairy for my cup-bearer before," said he. "That was better than anything Bordeaux or Xeres ever sent forth."

He seemed to have swallowed his seriousness, or thrown it away with the mullein leaf. It was quite gone.

"This is the best spring in all grandpa's ground," said Fleda.

"The water is as good as can be."

How come you to be such a wood and water spirit? you must live out of doors. Do the trees ever talk to you? I sometimes think they do to me."

"I don't know ? I think _I_ talk to _them_," said Fleda.

"It's the same thing," said her companion, smiling. "Such beautiful woods!"

"Were you never in the country before in the fall, Sir?"

"Not here ? in my own country often enough; but the woods in England do not put on such a gay face, Miss Fleda, when they are going to be stripped of their summer dress ? they look sober upon it ? the leaves wither and grow brown, and the woods have a dull russet colour. Your trees are true Yankees ?

they 'never say die.' "

"Why are the Americans more obstinate than the English?" said Fleda.

"It is difficult to compare unknown quant.i.ties," said Mr.

Carleton laughing, and shaking his head. "I see you have good ears for the key-note of patriotism."

Fleda looked a little hard at him, but he did not explain; and indeed they were hurrying along too much for talking; leaping from stone to stone, and running down the smooth orchard slope. When they reached the last fence, but a little way from the house, Fleda made a resolute pause.

"Mr. Carleton," ? said she.

Mr. Carleton put down his basket, and looked in some surprise at the hesitating anxious little face that looked up at him.

"Wont you please not say anything to grandpa about my going away?"

"Why not, Fairy?" said he, kindly.

"Because I don't think I ought to go."

"But may it not be possible," said he, "that your grandfather can judge better in the matter than you can do?"

"No," said Fleda, "I don't think he can. He would do anything he thought would be most for my happiness; but it wouldn't be for my happiness," she said, with an unsteady lip, ? "I don't know what he would do if I went!"

"You think he would have no suns.h.i.+ne if your wand didn't touch him?" said Mr. Carleton, smiling.

"No, Sir," said Fleda, gravely, "I don't think that, ? but wont you please, Mr. Carleton, not to speak about it?"

"But are you sure," he said, sitting down on a stone hard by, and taking one of her hands, ? "are you sure that you would not like to go with us? I wish you would change your mind about it. My mother will love you very much, and I will take the especial charge of you till we give you to your aunt in Paris; ? if the wind blows a little too rough I will always put myself between it and you," he added, smiling.

Fleda smiled faintly, but immediately begged Mr. Carleton "not to say anything to put it into her grandfather's head."

"It must be there already, I think, Miss Fleda; but at any rate you know my mother must perform her promise to your aunt Mrs. Rossitur; and she would not do that without letting your grandfather know how glad she would be to take you."

Fleda stood silent a moment, and then with a touching look of waiting patience in her sweet face suffered Mr. Carleton to help her over the fence; and they went home.

To Fleda's unspeakable surprise it was found to be past four o'clock, and Cynthy had supper ready. Mr. Ringgan with great cordiality invited Mr. Carleton to stay with them, but he could not; his mother would expect him to dinner.

"Where is your mother?"

"At Montepoole, Sir; we have been to Niagara, and came this way on our return, partly that my mother might fulfil the promise she made Mrs. Rossitur ? to let you know, Sir, with how much pleasure she will take charge of your little granddaughter, and convey her to her friends in Paris, if you can think it best to let her go."

"Hum! ? she is very kind," said Mr. Ringgan, with a look of grave and not unmoved consideration which Fleda did not in the least like; ? "How long will you stay at Montepoole Sir?"

"It might be several days," Mr. Carleton said.

"Hum ? You have given up this day to Fleda, Mr. Carleton, ?

suppose you take to-morrow for the game, and come here and try our country fare when you have got through shooting? ? you and young Mr. Rossitur? ? and I'll think over this question and let you know about it."

Fleda was delighted to see that her friend accepted this invitation with apparent pleasure.

"You will be kind enough to give my respects to your mother,"

Mr. Ringgan went on, "and thanks for her kind offer. I may perhaps ? I don't know ? avail myself of it. If anything should bring Mrs. Carleton this way we should like to see her.

I am glad to see my friends," he said, shaking the young gentleman's hand, ? "as long as I have a house to ask 'em to!"

"That will be for many years, I trust," said Mr. Carleton, respectfully, struck with something in the old gentleman's manner.

"I don't know, Sir!" said Mr. Ringgan, with again the dignified look of trouble: ? " it may not be! ? I wish you good day, Sir."