"O, who would not like it! I went with Mrs. Wishart to the Isles of Shoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notion what a place the world is."
"And what a place do you think it is?"
"O, so wonderfully full of beautiful things--so full! so full!--and of such _different_ beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and the Sound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spoke with a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accent to her words.
"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclay carelessly, but watching her.
"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of the world of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh and powerful and beautiful--it all comes back to me now, when I think of the surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and the feeling of the air."
"But how were the people? were _they_ uncommon too? Part of one"s impression is apt to come from the human side of the thing."
"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city people staying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all."
"Why not?"
"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unless they were told of it; nor then either."
"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs.
Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shall not be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too."
"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge ever thought of such a thing."
"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?"
"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that."
"You are fond of reading? I have brought a few books with me, which I hope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by."
"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression of pleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt we could hardly spare the money."
They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again with fresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptive readiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, and self-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to be read in the face and manner of each one; good ground to work upon.
Still Mrs. Barclay privately shook her head at her task.
"Miss Madge," she said suddenly, "I have been proposing to teach your sister to draw. Would you like to join her?"
Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spoke up and asked, "To draw what?"
"Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places."
"I don"t see what"s the use. When you"ve got a pretty thing, what should you draw it for?"
"Suppose you have _not_ got it."
"Then you can"t draw it," said Charity.
"O Charity, you don"t understand," cried Lois. "If I had known how to draw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoals last summer."
"They wouldn"t have been like."
Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging the question.
"What question?" said Charity.
"I mean, you are a.s.suming a thing without evidence."
"It don"t need evidence," said Charity. "I never saw a picture yet that was worth a red cent. It"s only a make-believe."
"Then you will not join our drawing cla.s.s, Miss Charity?"
"No; and I should think Madge had better stick to her sewing. There"s plenty to do."
"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and _I_ shouldn"t think duty would leave much time for making marks on paper."
The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some of her books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized her to write to Mr. Dillwyn.
"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to you until I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so much already that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relieve myself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is _the_ one? Is it the black-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features?
she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she is less handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of them have capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictly religious sort; I see that; the old grandmother is a regular Puritan, and the girls follow her lead; and I am in a confused state of mind thinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do with such a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; at least you know _I_ think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, and this little girl _is_. I do not mean to say anything against her; only, you want me to make a woman of the world out of the girl--and I doubt much whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; it is a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certain cases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material to which it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who would disapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldly plans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? I have indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; but I cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will say when they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking your money on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which may succeed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Think better of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for the people please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be very agreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is no violent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, you cannot marry a Puritan."
How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of higher education in this farmhouse, she did not clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; but how was she to propose teaching languages, or suggest algebra, or insist upon history? She must wait, and feel her way; and in the meantime she scattered books about her room, books chosen with some care, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to catch her fish. Meanwhile she made herself very agreeable in the family; and that without any particular exertion, which she rightly judged would hinder and not help her object.
"Isn"t she pleasant?" said Lois one evening, when the family were alone.
"She"s elegant!" said Madge.
"She has plenty to say for herself," added Charity.
"But she don"t look like a happy woman, Lois," Madge went on. "Her face is regularly sad, when she ain"t talking."
"But it"s sweet when she is."
"I"ll tell you what, girls," said Charity,--"she"s a real proud woman."
"O Charity! nothing of the sort," cried Lois. "She is as kind as she can be."
"Who said she wasn"t? I said she was proud, and she is. She"s a right, for all I know; she ain"t like our Shampuashuh people."
"She is a lady," said Lois.
"What do you mean by that, Lois?" Madge fired up. "You don"t mean, I hope, that the rest of us are not ladies, do you?"
"Not like her."
"Well, why should we be like her?"
"Because her ways are so beautiful. I should be glad to be like her.