"You know what my first name is, do not you?"
"Yes," said Eleanor.
"The people about call me "Misi Risi"--I am not going to have my wife a Fijian to me."
The lights on Eleanor"s face were very pretty. With the same contained smile he went on.
"I gave you my name yesterday. It is yours to do what you like with; but the greatest dishonour you can shew to a gift, is not to use it at all."
"That is the most comical putting of the case that ever I heard," said Eleanor, quite unable to retain her own gravity.
"Very good sense," said Mr. Rhys, with a dry preservation of his.
"But after all," said Eleanor, "you gave me your second name, if you please--I do not know what I have to do with the first."
"You do not? Is it possible you think your name is Henry or James, or something else? You are Rowland Rhys as truly as I am--only you are the mistress, and I am the master."
Eleanor"s look went over the table with something besides laughter in the brown eyes, which made them a gentle thing to see.
"Mr. Rhys, I am thinking, what you will do to this part of you to make it like the other?"
He gave her a glance, at which her eyes went down instantly.
"I do not know," he said with infinite gravity. "I will think about it.
Preaching does not seem to do you any good."
Eleanor bent her attention upon her bread and fruit. He spoke next with a change of tone, giving up his gravity.
"Do you know _your_ particular duty to-day?"
"I thought," said Eleanor,--"that as yesterday you shewed me the head-carpenter, perhaps this morning you would let me see the chief cook."
"That is not the first thing. You must have a lesson in Fijian; now that I hope you are instructed in English."
He carried her off to his study to get it. The lesson was a matter of amus.e.m.e.nt to Mr. Rhys, but Eleanor set herself earnestly to learn. Then he said he supposed she might as well see her establishment at once, and took her out to the side of the house where she had not been.
It was a plantation wilderness here too, though particularly devoted to all that in Fiji could belong to a kitchen garden. English beans and peas had been sown, and were flourishing; most of the luxuriance that met the eye had a foreign character. Beautiful order was noticeable everywhere. Mr. Rhys seemed to have forgotten all about the servants; he pleased himself with leading Eleanor through the walks and shewing her which were the plants of the yam and the k.u.mera and other native fruits and vegetables. Bananas were here too, and the graceful stems of the sugar cane; and overhead the cocoa-nut trees waved their feathery plumes in the air.
"Who did all this?" Eleanor asked admiringly.
"Solomon--with a head gardener over him."
"Solomon is--I saw him yesterday?"
"Yes. He came with me from Vulanga. He is a nice fellow. He is a Christian, as I told you; and a true labourer in the great vineyard. I believe he never misses an opportunity to speak to his countrymen in a quiet way and tell them the truth. He has brought a great many to know it. In my service he is very faithful."
"No wonder this garden looks nice," said Eleanor.
"I asked Solomon one day about his religious experience. He said he was very happy; he had enjoyed religion all the day. He said he rose early in the morning and prayed that the Lord would greatly bless him and keep him; and that it had been so, and generally was so when he attended to religious duties early in the morning. "But if I neglect and rush into the world," he said, "without properly attending to my religious duties, nothing goes right. I am wrong in my own heart, and no one round me is right.""
"Good testimony," said Eleanor. "Is he your cook as well as your gardener?"
"I had forgotten all about the cook," said Mr. Rhys. "Come and see the kitchen."
Near the main dwelling house, in this planted enclosure, were several smaller houses. Mr. Rhys at last took Eleanor that way, and permitted her to inspect them. The one nearest the main building was fitted for a laundry. The furthest was a sleeping house for the servants. The middle one was the kitchen. It was a Fijian kitchen. Here was a large fireplace, of the original fashion which had moved Eleanor"s wonder in the dining-room; with a Fijian framework of wood at one side of it, holding native vessels of pottery, larger and smaller, and variously shaped, for cooking purposes. Some more homelike iron utensils were to be seen also; with other kitchen appurtenances, water jars and so forth. A fire had been in the fireplace, and the signs of cookery were remaining; but in all the houses, n.o.body was anywhere visible.
"Solomon is gone to collect your servants," said Mr. Rhys. "That explains the present solitude."
"Did he cook that fish?"
"I have not tried him in cooking," said Mr. Rhys with a gravity that was perfect. "I do not know what he could do if he was tried."
"Who did it then?"
His smile was wonderfully pleasant--now that it could be no longer kept back--as he answered, "Your servant."
"_You_, Rowland! And the dinner yesterday?"
"Do not praise me," he said with the same look, "lest I should spoil the dinner to-day. I do not expect there will be anybody here till afternoon."
"Then you shall see what I can do!"
"I do not believe you know how. I have been long enough in the wilderness to learn all trades. You never learned how to cook at Wiglands."
"But at Pla.s.sy I did."
"Did aunt Caxton let you into her kitchen?"
"Yes."
"I shall not let you into mine."
"She went with me there. I have not come out here to be useless. I will take care of the dinner to-day."
"No, you shall not," said Mr. Rhys, drawing her away from the kitchen.
"You have got enough to do to-day in unpacking boxes. There will be servants this evening to attend to all you want; and for the present you are my care."
"Rowland, I should like it."
Which view of the case did not seem to be material. At least it was answered in a silencing kind of way, as with his arm about her he led her in through the bananas to the house. It silenced Eleanor effectually, in spite of being very serious in her wish. She put it away to bide another opportunity.
Mr. Rhys gave her something else to do, as he had said. The boxes had in part been brought from the schooner, and there was employment for both of them. He drew out nails, and took off covers, and did the rough unpacking; while the arranging and bestowing of the goods thus put under her disposal kept Eleanor very busy. His part of the work was finished long before hers, and Mr. Rhys withdrew to his study for some other work. Eleanor, happy and busy, with touched thoughts of Mrs.
Caxton, put away blankets and clothes and linen and calicos, and unpacked gla.s.s, and stowed on her shelves a whole store of home comforts and necessaries; marvelling between whiles at Mr. Rhys"s varieties of power in making himself useful and wishing she could do what she thought was better her work than his--the work to be done in the kitchen before the servants came home. By and by, Mr. Rhys came out of the study again, and found Eleanor sitting on the mat before a huge round hamper, uncovered, filled with Australian fruit. This was a late arrival, brought while he had been shut up at his work. Grapes and peaches and pears and apricots were crowded side by side in rich and beautiful abundance and confusion. Eleanor sat looking at it. She was in a working dress, of the brown stuff her aunt"s maids wore at home; short sleeves left her arms bare to the elbow; and the full jacket and hoopless skirt did no wrong to a figure the soft outlines of which they only disclosed. Mr. Rhys stopped and stood still. Eleanor looked up.
"Mr. Esthwaite has sent these on in the schooner unknown to me! What shall I do with them all?"
"I don"t know," said Mr. Rhys. "It is the penalty that attaches to wealth."
"But you said you never were poor?" said Eleanor, laughing at his look.