Queechy Volume Ii Part 40

"I'll take my share of credit whenever I can get it," said Earl, "and I think it's right to take it, as long as you ha'n't nothing to be ashamed of; but I wont take no more than my share; and I will say I thought we was a-goin' to choke the corn to death, when we seeded the field in that way. Well, there's better than two thousand bushel ? more or less ? and as handsome corn as I want to see ? there never was handsomer corn. Would you let it go for five s.h.i.+llings? ? there's a man I've heerd of wants the hull of it."

"Is that a good price, Mr. Dougla.s.s? Why don't you ask Mr.

Rossitur?"

"Do you s'pose Mr. Rossitur knows much about it?" inquired Earl, with a curious turn of feature, between sly and contemptuous. "The less he has to do with that heap of corn, the bigger it'll be ? that's my idee. I aint a-goin' to ask him nothin' ? you may ask him what you like to ask him ? but I don't think he'll tell you much that'll make you and me wiser in the matter o' farmin'."

"But now that he is at home, Mr. Dougla.s.s, I certainly cannot decide without speaking to him."

"Very good," said Earl, uneasily ? " 'taint no affair of nine ? as you like to have it, so you'll have it ? just as you please! But now, Fleda, there's another thing I want to speak to you about ? I want you to let me take hold of that 'ere piece of swamp land and bring it in. I knew a man that fixed a piece of land like that, and cleared nigh a thousand dollars off it the first year."

"Which piece?" said Fleda.

"Why, you know which 'tis ? just the other side of the trees over there between them two little hills. There's six or seven acres of it ? nothin' in the world but mud and briers ? will you let me take hold of it. I'll do the hull job if you'll give me half the profits for one year. Come over and look at it, and I'll tell you ? come! ? the walk wont hurt you, and it aint fur."

All Fleda's inclinations said no, but she thought it was not best to indulge them. She put on her hood and went off with him; and was treated to a long and most implicated detail of ways and means, from which she at length disentangled the _rationale_ of the matter, and gave Mr. Dougla.s.s the consent he asked for, promising to gain that of her uncle.

The day was fair and mild, and in spite of weariness of body, a certain weariness of mind prompted Fleda, when she had got rid of Earl Dougla.s.s, to go and see her aunt Miriam. She went, questioning with herself all the way, for her want of goodwill to these matters. True, they were not pleasant mind-work; but she tried to school herself into taking them patiently as good life-work. She had had too much pleasant company, and enjoyed too much conversation she said. It had unfitted her for home duties.

Mrs. Plumfield, she knew, was no better. But her eye found no change for the worse. The old lady was very glad to see her, and very cheerful and kind as usual.

"Well, are you glad to be home again?" said aunt Miriam, after a pause in the conversation.

"Everybody asks me that question," said Fleda, smiling.

"Perhaps for the same reason I did ? because they thought you didn't look very glad."

"I am glad," said Fleda, "but I believe not so glad as I was last year."

"Why not?"

"I suppose I had a pleasanter time. I have got a little spoiled, I believe, aunt Miriam," Fleda said, with glistening eyes and an altering voice ? "I don't take up my old cares and duties kindly at first ? I shall be myself again in a few days."

Aunt Miriam looked at her with that fond, wistful, benevolent look which made Fleda turn away.

"What has spoiled you, love?"

"Oh! ? easy living and pleasure, I suppose," Fleda said, but said with difficulty.

"Pleasure?" said aunt Miriam, putting one arm gently round her. Fleda struggled with herself.

"It is so pleasant, aunt Miriam, to forget these money cares!

? to lift one's eyes from the ground, and feel free to stretch out one's hand ? not to be obliged to think about spending sixpences, and to have one's mind at liberty for a great many things that I haven't time for here. And Hugh ? and aunt Lucy ? somehow things seem sad to me." ?

Nothing could be more sympathizingly kind than the way in which aunt Miriam brought Fleda closer to her side, and wrapped her in her arms.

"I am very foolish," Fleda whispered. "I am very wrong ? I shall get over it."

"I am afraid, dear Fleda," Mrs. Plumfield said, after a pause, "it isn't best for us always to be without sad things ? though I cannot bear to see your dear little face look sad ? but it wouldn't fit us for the work we have to do ? it wouldn't fit us to stand where I stand now, and look forward happily."

"Where you stand?" said Fleda, raising her head.

"Yes, and I would not be without a sorrow I have ever known.

They are bitter now, when they are present ? but the sweet fruit comes after."

"But what do you mean by 'where you stand?' "

"On the edge of life."

"You do not think so, aunt Miriam!" Fleda said, with a terrified look. "You are not worse?"

"I don't expect ever to be better," said Mrs. Plumfield, with a smile. "Nay, my love," she said, as Fleda's head went down on her bosom again ? "not so! I do not wish it either, Fleda.

I do not expect to leave you soon, but I would not prolong the time by a day. I would not have spoken of it now if I had recollected myself; but I am so accustomed to think and speak of it, that it came out before I knew it. My darling child, it is nothing to cry for."

"I know it, aunt Miriam."

"Then don't cry," whispered aunt Miriam, when she had stroked Fleda's head for five minutes.

"I am crying for myself, aunt Miriam," said Fleda. "I shall be left alone."

"Alone, my dear child?"

"Yes ? there is n.o.body but you that I feel I can talk to."

She would have added that she dared not say a word to Hugh, for fear of troubling him. But that pain at her heart stopped her, and pressing her hands together, she burst into bitter weeping.

"n.o.body to talk to but me?" said Mrs. Plumfield, after again soothing her for some time ? "what do you mean, dear?"

"Oh, I can't say anything to them at home," said Fleda, with a forced effort after voice; "and you are the only one I can look to for help ? Hugh never says anything ? almost never ?

anything of that kind; he would rather others should counsel him."

"There is One friend to whom you may always tell everything, with no fear of wearying Him ? of whom you may at all times ask counsel, without any danger of being denied ? more dear, more precious, more rejoiced in, the more he is sought unto.

Thou mayest lose friend after friend, and gain more than thou losest ? in that one."

"I know it," said Fleda; "but dear aunt Miriam, don't you think human nature longs for some human sympathy and help too?"

"My sweet blossom! yes," said Mrs. Plumfield, caressingly, stroking her bowed head; "but let Him do what he will; he hath said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' "

"I know that too," said Fleda, weeping. "How do people bear life that do not know it?"

"Or that cannot take the comfort of it. Thou art not poor nor alone while thou hast him to go to, little Fleda. And you are not losing me yet, my child; you will have time, I think, to grow as well satisfied as I with the prospect."

"Is that possible, for _others?_" said Fleda.

The mother sighed as her son entered the room.

He looked uncommonly grave, Fleda thought. That did not surprise her, but it seemed that it did his mother, for she asked an explanation, which, however, he did not give.

"So you've got back from New York," said he.