Queechy Volume I Part 84

"Who were you driving with that day?" said Hugh.

"Mr. Thorn."

"Did you see much of him?"

"Quite as much as I wished. Hugh, I took your advice."

"About what?" said Hugh.

"I carried down some of my scribblings, and sent them to a magazine."

"Did you!" said Hugh, looking delighted. "And will they publish them?"

"I don't know," said Fleda; "that's another matter. I sent them, or uncle Orrin did, when I first went down; and I have heard nothing of them yet."

"You showed them to uncle Orrin?"

"Couldn't help it, you know. I had to."

"And what did he say to them?"

"Come! ? I'm not going to be cross-questioned," said Fleda, laughing. "He did not prevent my sending them."

"And if they take them, do you expect they will give anything for them ? the magazine people?"

"I am sure, if they don't, they shall have no more; that is my only possible inducement to let them be printed. For my own pleasure, I would far rather not."

"Did you sign with your own name?"

"My own name! ? Yes, and desired it to be printed in large capitals. What are you thinking of? No! ? I hope you'll forgive me, ? but I signed myself what our friend the doctor calls 'Yugh.' "

"I'll forgive you, if you'll do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Show me all you have in your portfolio ? Do, Fleda! ? to- night, by the light of the pitch-pine knots. Why shouldn't you give me that pleasure? And, besides, you know Moliere had an old woman?"

"Well," said Fleda, with a face that to Hugh was extremely satisfactory, "we'll see ? I suppose you might as well read my productions in ma.n.u.script as in print. But they are in a terribly scratchy condition ? they go sometimes for weeks in my head before I find time to put them down ? you may guess, polis.h.i.+ng is pretty well out of the question. Suppose we try to get home with these baskets."

Which they did.

"Has Philetus got home?" was Fleda's first question.

"No," said Mrs. Rossitur, "but Dr. Quackenboss has been here, and brought the paper; he was at the post-office this morning, he says. Did you see Mr. Olmney?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and I feel he has saved me from a lame arm ?

those pine-knots are so heavy."

"He is a lovely young man!" said Mrs. Rossitur, with uncommon emphasis.

"I should have been blind to the fact, aunt Lucy, if you had not made me change my shoes. At present, no disparagement to him, I feel as if a cup of tea would be rather more lovely than anything else."

"He sat with me some time," said Mrs. Rossitur; "I was afraid he would not overtake you."

Tea was ready, and only waiting for Mrs. Rossitur to come down stairs, when Fleda, whose eye was carelessly running along the columns of the paper, uttered a sudden shout, and covered her face with it. Hugh looked up in astonishment, but Fleda was beyond anything but exclamations, laughing and flus.h.i.+ng to the very roots of her hair.

"What is the matter, Fleda?"

"Why," said Fleda, "how comical! ? I was just looking over the list of articles in the January number of the _Excelsior_" ?

"The _Excelsior!_" said Hugh.

"Yes ? the magazine I sent my things to ? I was running over their advertis.e.m.e.nt here, where they give a special puff of the publication in general, and of several things in particular, and I saw ? here they speak of 'A tale of thrilling interest, by Mrs. Eliza Lothbury, unsurpa.s.sed,' and so forth, and so forth; 'another valuable communication from Mr. Charleston, whose first acute and discriminating paper all our leaders will remember; the beginning of a new tale from the infallibly graceful pen of Miss Delia Lawriston: we are sure it will be so and so; '_The Wind's Voices_,' _by our new correspondent_, '_Hugh_,' _has a delicate sweetness that would do no discredit to some of our most honoured names!_' What do you think of that?"

What Hugh thought he did not say, but he looked delighted, and came to read the grateful words for himself.

"I did not know but they had declined it utterly," said Fleda; "it was so long since I had sent it, and they had taken no notice of it; but it seems they kept it for the beginning of a new volume."

" 'Would do no discredit to some of our most honoured names!'

" said Hugh. "Dear Fleda, I am very glad! But it is no more than I expected."

"Expected!" said Fleda. "When you had not seen a line! Hush, my dear Hugh, aren't you hungry?"

The tea, with this spice to their appet.i.tes, was wonderfully relished; and Hugh and Fleda kept making despatches of secret pleasure and sympathy to each other's eyes; though Fleda's face, after the first flush had faded, was perhaps rather quieter than usual. Hugh's was illuminated.

"Mr. Skillcorn is a smart man," said Barby, coming in with a package; "he has made out to go two miles in two hours, and get back again safe."

"More from the post-office!" exclaimed Fleda, pouncing upon it. ? "O yes, there has been another mail. A letter for you, aunt Lucy, from uncle Rolf. We'll forgive him, Barby ? and here's a letter for me, from uncle Orrin, and ? yes ? the _Excelsior_. Hugh, uncle Orrin said he would send it. Now for those blessed pineknots. Aunt Lucy, you shall be honoured with the one whole candle the house contains."

The table soon cleared away, the basket of fat fuel was brought in; and one or two splinters being delicately insinuated between the sticks on the fire, a very brilliant illumination sprang out. Fleda sent a congratulatory look over to Hugh on the other side of the fireplace, as she cosily established herself on her little bench at one corner with her letter: he had the magazine. Mrs. Rossitur between them at the table, with her one candle, was already insensible to all outward things.

And soon the other two were as delightfully absorbed. The bright light of the fire shone upon three motionless and rapt figures, and getting no greeting from them, went off and danced on the old cupboard doors and paper-hangings, in a kindly hearty joviality, that would have put any number of stately wax candles out of countenance. There was no poverty in the room that night. But the people were too busy to know how cosy they were, till Fleda was ready to look up from her note, and Hugh had gone twice carefully over the new poem ?

when there was a sudden giving out of the pine splinters. New ones were supplied in eager haste and silence, and Hugh was beginning "The Wind's Voices," for the third time, when a soft-whispered "Hugh!" across the fire, made him look over to Fleda's corner. She was holding up, with both hands, a five- dollar bank note, and just showing him her eyes over it.

"What's that?" said Hugh, in an energetic whisper.

"I don't know!" said Fleda, shaking her head comically; "I am told 'The Wind's Voices' have blown it here, but, privately, I am afraid it is a windfall of another kind."

"What?" said Hugh, laughing.

"Uncle Orrin says it is the first-fruits of what I sent to the _Excelsior_, and that more will come; but I do not feel at all sure that it is entirely the growth of that soil."

"I dare say it is," said Hugh; "I am sure it is worth more than that. Dear Fleda, I like it so much!"

Fleda gave him such a smile of grateful affection ? not at all as if she deserved his praise, but as if it was very pleasant to have.

"What put it into your head? anything in particular?"

"No ? nothing ? I was looking out of the window one day, and seeing the willow-tree blow; and that looked over my shoulder; as you know Hans Andersen says his stories did."