In the course of this business, moving hither and thither as the bunches of red fruit tempted her, and without raising an eye beyond them, she was picking close to one of the parties before she knew whom she was near; and as they were in like ignorance she heard Asahel say,

"I wish Rufus would pick — he does nothing but eat, ever since he came; he and Miss Rose."

"You don't expect her to pick for you, do you?" said Winthrop.

"She might just as well as for me to pick for her," said Asahel.

"Do you think we'll get enough for mamma, Governor?" said little Winifred in a very sweet, and a little anxious, voice.

"We'll try," said her brother.

"O you've got a great parcel! — but I have only so many, — Governor?"

"There's more where those came from, Winnie."

"Here are some to help," said Elizabeth coming up and emptying her own strawberries into the little girl's basket. Winifred looked down at the fresh supply and up into the young lady's face, and then gave her an "Oh thank you!" of such frank pleasure and astonishment that Elizabeth's energies were at once nerved. But first of all she went to see what Miss Cadwallader was about.

Miss Cadwallader was squatting in a nest of strawberries, with red finger-ends.

"Rose — how many have you picked?"

"I haven't the least idea. Aren't they splendid?"

"Haven't you any in your basket?"

"Basket? — no, — where is my basket?" said she looking round. "No, to be sure I haven't. I don't want any basket."

"Why don't you help?"

"Help? I've been helping myself, till I'm tired. Come here and sit down, Bess. Aren't they splendid? Don't you want to rest?"

"No."

Miss Rose, however, quitted the strawberries and placed herself on a rock.

"Where's my helper? — O yonder, — somebody's got hold of him. Lizzie, — who'd have thought we should be so well off for beaux here in the mountains?"

The other's brow and lip changed, but she stood silent.

"They don't act like farmer's sons, do they? I never should have guessed it if I had seen them anywhere else. Look, Lizzie, — now isn't he handsome? I never saw such eyes."

Elizabeth did not look, but she spoke, and the words lacked no point that lips could give them.

"I am thankful, Rose, that my head does not run upon the things that yours does!"

"What does yours run upon then?" said Rose pouting. "The other one, I suppose. That's the one you were helping with your strawberries just now. I dont think it is the wisest thing Mr. Haye has ever done, to send you and me here; — it's a pity there wasn't somebody to warn him."

"Rose!" — said the other, and her eyes seemed to lighten, one to the other, as she spoke, — "you know I don't like such talk — I detest and despise it! — it is utterly beneath me. You may indulge in all the nonsense you please, and descend to what you please; — but please to understand, I will not hear it."

Miss Cadwallader's eye fairly gave way under the lightning. Elizabeth's words were delivered with an intensity that kept them quiet, though with the last degree of clear utterance; and turning, as Rufus came up, she gave him a glare of her dark brown eyes that astonished him, and made off with a quick step to a part of the field where she could pick strawberries at a distance from everybody. She picked them somehow by instinct; she did not know what she was doing; her face rivalled their red bunches; and she picked with a kind of fury. That being the only way she had of venting her indignation, she threw it into her basket along with the strawberries. She hadn't worked so hard the whole afternoon. She edged away from the rest towards a wild corner, where amid rocks and bushes the strawberry vines spread rich and rank and the berries were larger and finer than any she had seen. She was determined to have a fine basketful for Winifred.

But she was unused to such stooping and steady work, and as she cooled down she grew very tired. She was in a rough grown place and she mounted on a rock and stood up to rest herself and look.

Pretty — pretty, it was. It was almost time to go home, for the sun was out of their strawberry patch and the woody walls were a few shades deeper coloured than they had been; while over the river, on the other side, the steep rocks of the home point sent back a warm glow yet. The hills beyond them stood in the sun, and in close contrast was the little deep green patch of fore-ground, lit up with the white or the gay dresses of the strawberry pickers. The sweet river, a bit of it, in the middle of the picture, half in sunshine, half in shade. It was like a little nest of fairy-land; so laughed the sunshine, so dwelt the shade, in this spot and in that one. Elizabeth stood fast. It was bewitching to the eyes. And while she looked, the shadow of Wut-a-qut-o was creeping over the river, and now ready to take off the warm browns of the rocky point.

She was thinking it was bewitching, and drinking it in, when she felt two hands clasp her by the waist, and suddenly, swiftly, without a word of warning, she was swung off, clear to another rock about two yards distant, and there set down, "all standing." In bewildered astonishment, that only waited to become indignation, she turned to see whom she was to be angry with. Nobody was near her but Winthrop, and he had disappeared behind the rock on which she had just been standing. Elizabeth was not precisely in a mood for cool judgment; she stood like an offended brood-hen, with ruffled feathers, waiting to fly at the first likely offender. The rest of the party began to draw near.

"Come Lizzie, we're going home," said her cousin.

"I am not," said Elizabeth.

"Why?"

"Because I am not ready."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing — only I am not ready."

"The sun's out of Bright Spot now, Miss Haye," said Rufus, with a somewhat mischievous play of feature.

Elizabeth was deaf.

"Winthrop has killed a rattlesnake!" exclaimed Asahel from the rock; — "Winthrop has killed a rattlesnake!"

And Winthrop came round the bushes bringing his trophy; a large snake that counted nine rattles. They all pressed round, as near as they dared, to look and admire; all but Elizabeth, who stood on her rock and did not stir.

"Where was it? where was it?" —

"When I first saw him, he was curled up on the rock very near to Miss Haye, but he slid down among the bushes before I could catch him. We must take care when we come here now, for the mate must be somewhere."

"I'll never come here again," said Miss Cadwallader. "O come! — let us go!"

"Did you move me?" said Elizabeth, with the air of a judge putting a query.

Winthrop looked up, and answered yes.

"Why didn't you ask me to move myself?"

"I would," said Winthrop calmly, — "if I could have got word to the snake to keep quiet."

Elizabeth did not know precisely what to say; her cousin was looking in astonishment, and she saw the corners of Rufus's mouth twitching; she shut her lips resolutely and followed the party to the boat.

The talking and laughing was general among them on the way home, with all but her; she was thinking. She even forgot her strawberries for little Winifred, which she meant to have given her in full view of her cousin. She held her basket on her lap, and looked at the water and didn't see the sunset.

The sun's proper setting was not to be seen, for he went down far behind Wut-a-qut-o. Wut-a-qut-o's shade was all over the river and had mounted near to the top of the opposite hills; but from peak to peak of them the sunlight glittered still, and overhead the sun threw down broad remembrancers of where he was and where he had been. The low hills in the distant north were all in sunlight; as the little boat pulled over the river they were lost behind the point of Shahweetah, and the last ray was gone from the last mountain ridge in view. Cool shadows and lights were over the land, a flood of beauty overhead in the sky.

It was agreed on all hands that they had been very successful; and little Winifred openly rejoiced over the quantity they had brought home for 'mother'; but still Elizabeth did not add her store, and had nothing to say. When they got to the landing- place, she would stay on the rocks to see how the boat was made fast. Winifred ran up to the house with her basket, Miss Cadwallader went to get ready for supper, Rufus followed in her steps. Asahel and Elizabeth stayed in the sunset glow to see Winthrop finish his part of the work; and then they walked up together. Elizabeth kept her position on one side of the oars, but seemed as moody as ever, till they were about half way from the rocks; then suddenly she looked up into Winthrop's face and said,

"Thank you. I ought to have said it before."

He bowed a little and smiled, in a way that set Elizabeth a thinking. It was not like a common farmer's boy. It spoke him as quiet in his own standing as she was in hers; and yet he certainly had come home that day in his shirt sleeves, and with his mower's jacket over his arm? It was very odd.

"What was it you said that strawberry-place was in the shadow of sometimes?"

"Wut-a-qut-o?"

"What's that?"

"The big mountain over there. This was in the shadow of it a little while ago."

"What a queer name! What does it mean?"

"It is Indian. I have heard that it means, the whole name, — 'He that catches the clouds.'"

"That is beautiful! —"

"You must be tremendously strong," she added presently, as if not satisfied that she had said enough, — "for you lifted me as if I had been no more than a featherweight."

"You did not seem much more," he said.

"Strong! —" said Asahel —

But Elizabeth escaped from Asahel's exposition of the subject, into her room.

She had regained her good-humour, and everybody at the table said she had improved fifty per cent. since her coming to Shahweetah. Which opinion Mr. Haye confirmed when he came a day or two afterward.

CHAPTER X.

Cam. Be advised. Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto he obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome. WINTER'S TALE.

The young ladies' summering in the country had begun with good promise; there was no danger they would tire of it. Mr. Haye gave it as his judgment that his daughter had come to the right place; and he was willing to spare no pains to keep her in the same mind. He brought up a little boat with him the next time he came, and a delicate pair of oars; and Elizabeth took to boating with great zeal. She asked for very little teaching; she had used her eyes, and now she patiently exercised her arms, till her eyes were satisfied; and after that the "Merry-go-round" had very soon earned a right to its name. Her father sent her a horse; and near every morning her blue habit was fluttering along the roads, to the great admiration of the country people who had never seen a long skirt before. And every afternoon, as soon as the sun hid himself behind the great western mountain, her little white boat stole out from the rocks and coasted about under the point or lay in the bay, wandering through sunshine and shade; loitering where the north wind blew softly, or resting with poised oars when the sun was sending royal messages to earth via the clouds. On horseback or in the boat, — Miss Elizabeth would not take exercise in so common a way as walking, — she did honour to the nurture of the fresh air. The thin cheek rounded out; and sallow and pale gave place to the clear rich colour of health.

Asahel was her general companion in the boat. Sometimes her cousin condescended to enjoy a sail of a summer's evening, but for the most part Asahel and Elizabeth went alone. Miss Cadwallader would neither row nor ride, and was very apt to eschew walking, unless a party were going along.

Over her books Elizabeth luxuriated all the rest of the time. Morning, noon, and night. The labour of talking she left to her cousin, who took to it kindly, and speedily made herself very popular. And there was certainly something very pleasant in her bright smile, always ready, and in her lovely face; and something pleasant too in her exceeding dainty and pretty manner of dressing. She fascinated the children's eyes, and if truth be told, more than the children. She seemed to have a universal spirit of good-humour. She never was so fast in a book but she would leave it to talk to the old or play with the young; and her politeness was unfailing. Elizabeth gave no trouble, but she seemed to have as little notion of giving pleasure; except to herself. That she did perfectly and without stop. For the rest, half the time she hardly seemed to know what was going on with the rest of the world.

So the summer wore on, with great comfort to most parties. Perhaps Winthrop was an exception. He had given comfort, if he had not found it. He had been his mother's secret stand-by; he had been her fishmonger, her gamekeeper, her head gardener, her man-at-need in all manner of occasions. His own darling objects meanwhile were laid upon the shelf. He did his best. But after a day's work in the harvest field, and fishing for eels off the rocks till nine o'clock at night, what time was there for Virgil or Graeca Minora? Sometimes he must draw up his nets in the morning before he went to the field; and the fish must be cleaned after they were taken. Sometimes a half day must be spent in going after fruit. And whenever the farm could spare him for a longer time, he was off to the woods with his gun; to fetch home rabbits at least, if no other game was to be had. But all the while his own ground lay waste. To whomsoever the summer was good, he reckoned it a fruitless summer to him.

In the multitude of their enjoyments of out-door things, the girls took very naturally to the unwonted ways and usages of the country household. The farm living and the farm hours seemed to have no disgust for them. In the hot weather the doors often all stood open; and they sat in the keeping-room, and in the kitchen, and in their own room, and seemed to find all pleasant.

So one night Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm were alone in the kitchen. It was a cool evening, though in midsummer, and they had gathered round the kitchen fire as being the most agreeable place. The children were long gone to bed; the rest of the family had at length followed them; Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm alone kept their place. The one was darning some desperate-looking socks; the other, as usual, deep in a book. They had been very still and busy for a long time; and then as Elizabeth looked up for a moment and glanced at the stocking- covered hand of her neighbour, Mrs. Landholm looked up; their eyes met. Mrs. Landholm smiled.

"Do you like anything so well as reading, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Nothing in the world! What are you doing, Mrs. Landholm?"

"Mending — some of the boys' socks," she said cheerfully; "farmers are hard upon their feet."

"Mending — that?" said Elizabeth. "What an endless work!"

"No, not endless," said the mother quietly. "Thick shoes and a great deal of stepping about, make pretty hard work with stockings."

"But, Mrs. Landholm! — it would be better to buy new ones, than to try to mend such holes."

Mrs. Landholm smiled again — a smile of grave and sweet life- wisdom.

"Did it ever happen to you to want anything you could not have, Miss Elizabeth?"

"No — never," said Elizabeth slowly.

"You have a lesson to learn yet."

"I hope I sha'n't learn it," said Elizabeth.

"It must be learned," said Mrs. Landholm gently. "Life would not be life without it. It is not a bad lesson either."

"It isn't a very pleasant one, Mrs. Landholm," said Elizabeth. And she went back to her reading.

"You don't read my book, Miss Elizabeth," the other remarked presently.

"What is that?"

Mrs. Landholm looked up again, and the look caught Elizabeth's eye, as she answered,

"The Bible."

"The Bible! — no, I don't read it much," said Elizabeth. "Why, Mrs. Landholm?"

"Why, my dear? — I hope you will know some day why," she answered, her voice a little changed.

"But that is not exactly an answer, Mrs. Landholm," said Elizabeth with some curiosity.

Mrs. Landholm dropped her hands and her stocking into her lap, and looked at the face opposite her. It was an honest and intelligent face, very innocent in its ignorance of life and life-work.

"What should we do without the Bible?" she asked.

"Do without it! Why I have done without it all my days, Mrs. Landholm."

"You are mistaken even in that," she said; "but, Miss Elizabeth, do you think you have lived a blameless life all your life till now? — have you never done wrong?"

"Why no, I don't think that, — of course I have," Elizabeth answered gravely, and not without a shade of displeasure at the question.

"Do you know that for every one of those wrong doings your life is forfeit?"

"Why no!"

"And that you are living and sitting there, only because Jesus Christ paid his blood for your life? — Your time is bought time; — and he has written the Bible to tell you what to do with it."

"Am I not to do what I like with my own time?" thought Elizabeth. The thought was exceeding disagreeable; but before she or anybody had spoken again, the door of the big bed-room opened gently, and Miss Cadwallader's pretty face peeped out.

"Are they all gone to bed? — are they all gone to bed?" she said; — "may I come, Mrs Landholm?"

She was in her dressing-gown, and tripping across the floor with the prettiest little bare feet in the world, she took a chair in the corner of the fireplace.

"They got so cold," she said, — "I thought I would come out and warm them. How cosy and delightful you do look here. Dear Mrs. Landholm, do stop working. What are you talking about?"

There was a minute's hesitation, and then Elizabeth said,

"Of reading the Bible."

"The Bible! oh why should one read the Bible?" she said, huddling herself up in the corner. "It's very tiresome!"

"Do you ever read it, Miss Rose?"

"I? — no, indeed I don't. I am sorry, I dare say you will think me very wrong, Mrs. Landholm."

"Then how do you know it is tiresome?"

"O I know it is — I have read it; and one hears it read, you know; but I never want to."

Her words grated, perhaps on both her hearers; but neither of them answered.

"There was a man once," said Mrs. Landholm, "who read it a great deal; and he said that it was sweeter than honey and the honey-comb."

"Who was that?"

"You may read about him if you wish to," said Mrs. Landholm.

"But Mrs. Landholm," said Elizabeth, "do you think it is an interesting book?"

"Not to those who are not interested in the things, Miss Elizabeth."

"What things?"

Mrs. Landholm paused a bit.

"A friend to go with you through life's journey — a sure friend and a strong one; a home ready at the journey's end; the name and the love of forgiven children, instead of the banishment of offenders; a clean heart and a right spirit in place of this sickly and sin-stricken nature! — a Saviour and a Father instead of a Judge."

It was impossible to forget the reddening eyes and trembling lips which kept the words company. Elizabeth found her own quivering for sympathy; why, she could not imagine. But there was so much in that face, — of patience and gladness, of strength and weakness, — it was no wonder it touched her. Mrs. Landholm's eyes fell to her work and she took up her stocking again and went on darning; but there was a quick motion of her needle that told how the spirits were moving.

Elizabeth sat still and did not look at her book. Miss Cadwallader hugged herself in her wrapper and muttered under her breath something about "stupid."

"Are your feet warm?" said Elizabeth.

"Yes."

"Then come! —"

Within their own room, she shut the door and without speaking went about with a certain quick energy which she accompanied with more than her usual dignified isolation.

"Who are you angry with now?" said her cousin.

"Nobody."

"Yes you are, you are angry with me."

"It is of no sort of use to be angry with you."

"Why?"

"Because I believe you could not be wise if you were to try."

"I think it is my place to be angry now," said Miss Rose; giving no other indication of it however than a very slight pouting of her under lip. "And all because I said 'stupid!' Well I don't care — they are all stupid —Rufus was as stupid this afternoon as he could be; and there is no need, for he can be anything else. He was as stupid as he could be."

"What have you to do with Rufus?" said Elizabeth stamping slightly.

"Just what you have to do with Winthrop — amuse myself."

"You know I don't!" said Elizabeth. "How dare you say it! I do not choose to have such things said to me. You know, if that was all, that Winthrop does not amuse anybody — nobody ever sees him from meal-time to meal-time. You find Rufus very amusing, and he can talk very well, considering; but nobody knows whether the other one can be amusing, for ho never tried, so far as I know."

"I know," said her cousin; "they are a stupid set, all of them."

"They are not a stupid set," said Elizabeth; "there is not a stupid one of them, from the father down. They are anything but stupid."

"What does Winthrop do with himself? Rufus isn't so busy."

"I don't know," said Elizabeth; "and I am sure I don't care. He goes for eels, I think, every other night. He has been after them to-night. He is always after birds or fish or rabbits, when he isn't on the farm."

"I wonder what people find so much to do on a farm. I should think they'd grow stupid. — It is funny," said Miss Cadwallader as she got into bed, "how people in the country always think you must read the Bible."

Elizabeth lay a little while thinking about it and then fell asleep. She had slept, by the mind's unconscious measurement, a good while, when she awoke again. It startled her to see that a light came flickering through the cracks of her door from the kitchen. She slipped out of bed and softly and quickly lifted the latch. But it was not the house on fire. The light came from Mrs. Landholm's candle dying in its socket; beyond the candle, on the hearth, was the mistress of the house on her knees. Elizabeth would have doubted even then what she was about, but for the soft whisper of words which came to her ear. She shut the door as softly and quickly again, and got into bed with a kind of awe upon her. She had certainly heard people stand up in the pulpit and make prayers, and it seemed suitable that other people should bend upon cushions and bow heads while they did so; but that in a common-roofed house, on no particular occasion, anybody should kneel down to pray when he was alone and for his own sake, was something that had never come under her knowledge; and it gave her a disagreeable sort of shock. She lay awake and watched to see how soon Mrs. Landholm's light would go away; it died, the faint moonlight stole in through the window unhindered; and still there was no stir in the next room. Elizabeth watched and wondered; till after a long half hour she heard a light step in the kitchen and then a very light fall of the latch. She sprang up to look at the moon; it had but little risen; she calculated the time of its rising for several nights back, and made up her mind that it must be long past twelve. And this a woman who was tired every day with her day's work and had been particularly tired to-night! for Elizabeth had noticed it. It made her uncomfortable. Why should she spend her tired minutes in praying, after the whole house was asleep? and why was it that Elizabeth could not set her down as a fool for her pains? And on the contrary there grew up in her mind, on the instant, a respect for the whole family that wrapped them about like a halo.

One morning when Elizabeth came through the kitchen to mount her horse, Mrs. Landholm was doing some fine ironing. The blue habit stopped a moment by the ironing-table.

"How dreadfully busy you are, Mrs. Landholm."

"Not so busy that I shall not come out and see you start," she answered. "I always love to do that."

"Winnie," said Elizabeth putting a bank bill into the little girl's hand, "I shall make you my messenger. Will you give that to the man who takes care of my horse, for I never see him, and tell him I say he does his work beautifully."

Winifred blushed and hesitated, and handing the note back said that she had rather not.

"Won't you give it to him!"

The little girl coloured still more. "He don't want it."

"Keep your money, my dear," said Mrs. Landholm; "there is no necessity for your giving him anything."

"But why shouldn't I give it to him if I like it?" said Elizabeth in great wonderment.

"It is a boy that works for my father, Miss Haye," said Winthrop gravely; "your money would be thrown away upon him."

"But in this he works for me."

"He don't know that."

"If he don't — Money isn't thrown away upon anybody, that ever I heard of," said Elizabeth; "and besides, what if I choose to throw it away?"

"You can. Only that it is doubtful whether it would be picked up."

"You think he wouldn't take it?"

"I think it is very likely."

"What a fool! — Then I shall send away my horse!" said Elizabeth; "for either he must be under obligation to me, or I to him; and I don't choose the latter."

"Do you expect to get through the world without being under obligation to anybody?" said Winthrop smiling.

But Elizabeth had turned, and marching out of the house did not make any reply.

"What's the objection to being under obligation, Miss Elizabeth?" said Mrs. Landholm. Elizabeth was mounting her horse, in which operation Winthrop assisted her.

"It don't suit me!"

"Fortune's suits do not always fit," said Winthrop. "But then —"

"Then what?" —

"She never alters them."

Elizabeth's eyes fired, and an answer was on her lip, but meeting the very composed face of the last speaker, as he put her foot in the stirrup, she thought better of it. She looked at him and asked,

"What if one does not choose to wear them?"

"Nothing for it but to fight Fortune," said Winthrop smiling; — "or go without any."

"I would rather go anyhow!" said Elizabeth, — "than be obliged to anybody, — of course except to my father."

"How if you had a husband?" inquired Mrs. Landholm with a good-humoured face.

It was a turn Elizabeth did not like; she did not answer Mrs. Landholm as she would have answered her cousin. She hesitated.

"I never talk about that, Mrs. Landholm," she said a little haughtily, with a very pretty tinge upon her cheek; — "I would not be obliged to anybody but my father; — never."

"Why?" said Mrs. Landholm. "I don't understand."

"Don't you see, Mrs. Landholm, — the person under obligation is always the inferior."

"I never felt it so," she replied.

Her guest could not feel, what her son did, the strong contrast they made. One little head was held as if certainly the neck had never been bowed under any sort of pressure; the other, in its meek dignity, spoke the mind of too noble a level to be either raised or lowered by an accident.

"It is another meaning of the word, mother, from that you arc accustomed to," Winthrop said.

Elizabeth looked at him, but nothing was to be gained from his face.

"Will you have the goodness to hand me my riding-whip," she said shortly.

"You will have to be obliged to me for that," he said as he picked it up.

"Yes," said Elizabeth; "but I pay for this obligation with a 'thank you'!"

So she did, and with a bow at once a little haughty and not a little graceful. It was the pure grace of nature, the very speaking of her mind at the moment. Turning her horse's head she trotted off, her blue habit fluttering and her little head carried very gracefully to the wind and her horse's motion. They stood and looked after her.

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Landholm, — "she has something to learn. There is good in her too."

"Ay," said her son, "and there is gold in the earth; but it wants hands."

"Yes," said Mrs. Landholm, — "if she only fell into good hands —"

It might have been tempting, to a certain class of minds, to look at that pretty little figure flying off at full trot in all the riot of self-guidance, and to know that it only wanted good hands to train her into something really fine. But Mrs. Landholm went back to her ironing, and Winthrop to drive his oxen a field.

Elizabeth trotted till she had left them out of sight; and then walked her horse slowly while she thought what had been meant by that queer speech of Winthrop's. Then she reminded herself that it was of no sort of consequence what had been meant by it, and she trotted on again.

Asahel as usual came out to hold her bridle when she returned.

"Asahel, who takes care of my horse?" she said as she was dismounting.

"Ain't it handsomely done?" said Asahel.

"Yes, — beautifully. Who does it?"

"It's somebody that always does things so," said Asahel oracularly, a little in doubt how he should answer.

"Well, who?"

"Don't you know?"

"Of course I don't! Who is it?"

"It's Winthrop."

"Winthrop!" —

"Yes. He does it."

Elizabeth's cheeks burnt.

"Where's that man of yours — why don't he do it?"

"Sam? — O he don't know — I guess he ain't up to it."

Asahel led away the horse, and Elizabeth went into the house, ready to cry with vexation. But it was not generally her fashion to vent vexation so.

"What's the matter now?" said her cousin. "What adventure have you met with this morning?"

"Nothing at all."

"Well, what's the matter?"

"Nothing — only I want to lay my whip about somebody's shoulders, — if I could find the right person."

"Well 'taint me," said Rose shrinking. "Look here — I've got a delicious plan in my head — I'm going to make them take us in the boat round the bay, after huckleberries."

"Absurd!"

"What's absurd?"

"That."

"Why?"

"Who'll take you?"

"No matter — somebody, I don't know who; — Rufus. But you'll go?"

"Indeed I won't."

"Why?"

"The best reason in the world. I don't want to."

"But I want you to go — for my sake, Lizzie."

"I won't do it for anybody's sake. And Rose — I think you take a great deal too much of Rufus's time. I don't believe he does his duty on the farm, and he can't, if you will call upon him so much."

"He's not obliged to do what I ask him," said Rose pouting; "and I'm not going to stay here if I can't amuse myself. But come! — you'll go in the bay after huckleberries?"

"I shall not stir. You must make up your mind to go without me."

Which Rose declared was very disagreeable of her cousin, and she even shed a few tears; but a rock could not have received them with more stony indifference, and they were soon dried.

The huckleberry expedition was agreed upon at dinner, Mr. Landholm being, as he always was when he could, very agreeable. In the mean time Winthrop took the boat and went out on the bay to catch some fish.

It was near the time for him to be back again, and the whole party were gathered in the keeping-room and in the door-way; Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm with their respective books and work, the others, children and all, rather on the expecting order and not doing much of any thing; when a quick springy footstep came round the house corner. Not Winthrop's, they all knew; his step was slower and more firm; and Winthrop's features were very little like the round good-humoured handsome face which presented itself at the front door.

"Mr. Herder!" cried the children. But Rose was first in his way.

"Miss Cadval-lader!" said the gentleman, — "I did not expect — Mrs. Landholm, how do you do? — Miss Elisabet' I did not look for this pleasure. Who would have expect' to see you here!"

"Nobody I suppose," said Elizabeth. "Isn't it pleasant, Mr. Herder?"

There was a great laughing and shaking of hands between them; and then Mr. Herder went again to Mrs. Landholm, and gave the children his cordial greeting. And was made to know Rufus.

"But where is Wint'rop?" said Mr. Herder, after they had done a great deal of talking in ten minutes.

"Winthrop is gone a fishing. We expect him home soon."

"Where is he? Tell me where he is gone and I will go after him and bring him back. I know de country. I did not come to see you, Miss Elisabet' — I have come to see my friend Wint'rop. And I do not want to stay in de house, never, while it is so pleasant wizout."

"But we are going in the bay after huckleberries," said Rose, — "won't you go with us, Mr. Herder?"

"After huckle-berry — I do not know what is that — yes, I will go wiz you, and I will go find Wint'rop and bring him home to go too."

"He is out on the bay," said Elizabeth; "I'll take you to him in my boat. Come Mr. Herder, — I don't want you, Rose; I'll take nobody but Mr. Herder; — we'll go after him."

She ran for her bonnet, seized her oars, and drew Mr. Herder with her down to the rocks.

It was a soft grey day; pleasant boating at that or at any hour, the sun was so obscured with light clouds. Elizabeth seated Mr. Herder in the stern of the 'Merry-go-round,' and pulled out lightly into the bay; he very much amused with her water-craft.

They presently caught sight of the other boat, moored a little distance out from the land, behind a point.

"There he is!" — said Mr. Herder. "But what is he doing? He is not fishing. Row your boat soft, Miss Elisabet' — hush! — do not speak wiz your — what is it you call? — We will catch him — we have the wind — unless he be like a wild duck —"

Winthrop's boat lay still upon the sleepy water, — his fishing rod dipped its end lazily in, — the cork floated at rest; and the fisher seated in his boat, was giving his whole attention seemingly to something in his boat. Very softly and pretty skilfully they stole up.

He had something of the wild duck about him; for before they could get more than near at hand, he had looked up, looked round, and risen to greet them. By his help the boats were laid close alongside of each other; and while Winthrop and Mr. Herder were shaking hands across them, Elizabeth quietly leaned over into the stern of the fishing-boat and took up one or two books which lay there. The first proved to be an ill- bound, ill printed, Greek and Latin dictionary; the other was a Homer! Elizabeth laid them down again greatly amazed, and wondering what kind of people she had got among.

"What brings you here now, Mr. Herder?" said Winthrop. "Have you come to look after the American Eagle?"

"Ha! — no — I have not come to look after no eagle; — and yet I do not know — I have come to see you, and I do not know what you will turn to be —the eagle flies high, you know."

Winthrop was preparing to tie the two boats together, and did not answer. Mr. Herder stepped from the one he was in and took a seat in Winthrop's. Elizabeth would not leave her own, though she permitted Winthrop to attach it to his and to do the rowing for both; she sat afar off among her cushions, alone.

"I am not very gallant, Miss Elisabet'," said the naturalist; "but if you will not come, I will not come back to you. I did not come to see you this time — I want to speak to this young American Eagle."

And he settled himself comfortably with his back to Elizabeth, and turned to talk to Winthrop, as answering to his strong arm the two boats began to fly over the water.

"You see," he said, "I have stopped here just to see you. You have not change your mind, I hope, about going to de Universite?"

"No sir."

"Goot. In de Universite where I am, there is a foundation — I mean by that, the College has monies, that she is in right to spend to help those students that are not quite rich enough — if they have a leetle, she gives them a leetle more, till they can get through and come out wiz their studies. This Universite has a foundation; and it is full; but the President is my friend, and he knows that I have a friend; and he said to me that he would make room for one more, though we are very full, and take you in; so that it will cost you very little. I speak that, for I know that you could not wish to spend so much as some."

It was a golden chance — if it could but be given to Rufus! That was not possible; and still less was it possible that Winthrop should take it and so make his brother's case hopeless, by swallowing up all the little means that of right must go to set him forward first. There was a strong heaving of motives against each other in Winthrop's bosom. But his face did not shew it; there was no change in his cool grey eye; after a minute's hesitation he answered, lying on his oars,

"I thank you very much Mr. Herder — I would do it gladly — but I am so tied at home that it is impossible. I cannot go."

"You can not?" said the naturalist.

"I cannot — not at present — my duty keeps me at home. You will see me in Mannahatta by and by," he added with a faint smile and beginning to row again; — "but I don't know when."

"I wish it would be soon," said the naturalist. "I should like to have you there wiz me. But you must not give up for difficulties. You must come?"

"I shall come," said Winthrop.

"How would you like this?" said Mr. Herder after pondering a little. "I have a friend who is an excellent — what you call him? — bookseller — Would you like a place wiz him, to keep his books and attend to his business, for a while, and so get up by degrees? I could get you a place wiz him."

"No, sir," said Winthrop smiling; — "the eagle never begins by being something else."

"Dat is true," said the naturalist. "Well — I wish I could do you some goot, but you will not let me; — and I trust you that you are right."

"You are a good friend, sir," said Winthrop gratefully.

"Well — I mean to be," said the other, nodding his good- humoured head.

Elizabeth was too far off to hear any of this dialogue; and she was a little astonished again when they reached the land to see her boatman grasp her friend's hand and give it a very hearty shake.

"I shall never forget it, sir," she heard Winthrop say.

"I do not wish that," said the naturalist. "What for should you remember it? it is good for nozing."

"Is that boy studying Latin and Greek?" said Elizabeth as she and Mr. Herder walked up to the house together.

"That boy? That boy is a very smart boy."

"But is he studying Greek?"

"What makes you ask so?"

"Because there was a Greek book and a dictionary there in the boat with him."

"Then I suppose he is studying it," said Mr. Herder.

Elizabeth changed her mind and agreed to go with the huckle- berry party; but she carried a book with her and sat in a corner with it, seldom giving her eyes to anything beside.

Yet there was enough on every hand to call them away. The soft grey sky and grey water, the deep heavy-green foliage of the banks, and the fine quiet outlines of the further mountains, set off by no brilliant points of light and shade, — made a picture rare in its kind of beauty. Its colouring was not the cold grey of the autumn, only a soft mellow chastening of summer's gorgeousness. A little ripple on the water, — a little fleckiness in the cloud, — a quiet air; it was one of summer's choice days, when she escapes from the sun's fierce watch and sits down to rest herself. But Elizabeth's eyes, if they wavered at all, were called off by some burst of the noisy sociability of the party, in which she deigned not to share. Her cousin, Mr. Herder, Rufus, Asahel, and Winifred, were in full cry after pleasure; and a cheery hunt they made of it.

"Miss Elisabet' does look grave at us," said the naturalist, — "she is the only one wise of us all; she does nothing but read. What are you reading, Miss Elisabet'?"

"Something you don't know, Mr. Herder."

"O it's only a novel," said her cousin; "she reads nothing but novels."

"That's not true, Rose Cadwallader, and you know it."

"A novel!" said Mr. Herder. "Ah! — yes — that is what the ladies read — they do not trouble themselves wiz ugly big dictionaries — they have easy times."

He did not mean any reproof; but Elizabeth's cheek coloured exceedingly and for several minutes kept its glow; and though her eyes still held to the book, her mind had lost it.

The boat coasted along the shore, down to the head of the bay, where the huckleberry region began; and then drew as close in to the bank as possible. No more was necessary to get at the fruit, for the bushes grew down to the very water's edge and hung over, black with berries, though us Asahel remarked, a great many of them were blue. Everybody had baskets, and now the fun was to hold the baskets under and fill them from the overhanging bunches as fast as they could; though in the case of one or two of the party the more summary way of carrying the bushes off bodily seemed to be preferred.

"And this is huckle-berry," said Mr. Herder, with a bush in his hand and a berry in his mouth. "Well — it is sweet — a little; — it is not goot for much."

"Why Mr. Herder!" said Rose; — "They make excellent pies, and Mrs. Landholm has promised to make us some, if we get enough."

"Pies!" said the naturalist, — "let us get a great many huckleberry then — but I am very sorry I shall not be here to eat the pies wiz you. Pull us a little, Wint'rop — we have picked everything. Stop! — I see, — I will get you some pies! —"

He jumped from the boat and away he went up the bank, through a thick growth of young wood and undergrowth of alder and dogwood and buckthorn and maple and huckleberry bushes. He scrambled on up hill, and in a little while came down again with a load of fruity branches, which he threw into the boat. While the others were gathering them up, he stood still near the edge of the water, looking abroad over the scene. The whole little bay, with its high green border, the further river-channel with Diver's Rock setting out into it, and above, below, and over against him the high broken horizon line of the mountains; the flecked grey cloud and the ripply grey water.

"This is a pretty place!" said the naturalist. "I have seen no such pretty place in America. I should love to live here. I should be a happy man! — But one does not live for to be happy," he said with half a sigh.

"One doesn't live to be happy, Mr. Herder!" said Elizabeth. "What does one live for, then? I am sure I live to be happy."

"And I am sure I do," said Rose.

"Ah, yes — you, — you may," said the naturalist good- humouredly.

"When happiness can be found so near the surface," said Rufus with a satiric glance at the cover of Elizabeth's book, — "it would be folly to go further."

"What do you live for, Mr. Herder?" said Elizabeth, giving Rufus's words a cool go-by.

"I? — O I live to do my work," said the naturalist.

"And what is that?"

"I live to find out the truth — to get at de truth. It is for that I spend my days and my nights. I have found out some — I will find out more."

"And what is the purpose of finding out this truth, Mr. Herder?" said Rufus; — "what is that for? doesn't that make you happy?"

"No," said the naturalist with a serious air, — "it does not make me happy. I must find it out — since it is there — and I could not be happy if I did not find it; — but if dere was no truth to be found, I could make myself more happy in some ozer way."

The fine corners of the young man's mouth shewed that he thought Mr. Herder was a little confused in his philosophy.

"You think one ought to live to be happy, don't you, Mr. Rufus?" said Miss Rose.

"No!" said Rufus, with a fire in his eye and lip, and making at the same time an energetic effort after a difficult branch of huckleberries, — "no! — not in the ordinary way!"

"In what way then?" said the young lady with her favourite pout.

"He has just shewed you, Miss Rose," said Winthrop; — "in getting the highest huckleberry bush. It don't make him happy — only he had rather have that than another."

"Let us have your sense of the matter, then," said his brother.

"But Mr. Herder," said Elizabeth, "why do you want to find out truth? — what is it for?"

"For science — for knowledge; — that is what will do goot to the world and make ozer happy. It is not to live like a man to live for himself."

"Then what should one live for," said Elizabeth a little impatiently, — "if it isn't to be happy?"

"I would rather not live at all," said Rose, her pretty lips black with huckleberries, which indeed was the case with the whole party.

"You yourself, Mr. Herder, that is your happiness — to find out truth, as you say — to advance science and learning and do good to other people; you find your own pleasure in it."

"Yes, Mr. Herder," chimed in Rose, — "don't you love flowers and stones and birds and fishes, and beetles, and animals — don't you love them as much as we do dogs and horses? — don't you love that little black monkey you shewed us the other day?"

"No, Miss Rose," said the naturalist, — "no, I do not love them — I do not care for them; — I love what is back of those things; dat is what I want."

"And that is your pleasure, Mr. Herder?"

"I do not know," said the puzzled naturalist, — "maybe it is — if I could speak German, I would tell you; — Wint'rop, you do say nozing; and you are not eating huckleberries neizer; — what do you live for?"

"I am at cross-purposes with life, just now, sir."

"Cross?" — said the naturalist.

"Winthrop is never cross," responded Asahel from behind a thick branch of huckleberry.

"Dat is to the point!" said Mr. Herder.

"Well, speak to the point," said Rufus.

"I think the point is now — or will be presently — to get home."

"But to the first point — what should a man live for?"

"It's against the law to commit suicide."

"Pish!" said Rufus.

"Come tell us what you think, Wint'rop," said Mr. Herder.

"I think, sir, I should live to be happy."

"You do!" said the naturalist.

"And I think happiness should be sought in doing all one can, first for oneself, and then for other people."

"That will do," said Mr. Herder. "I agree wiz you."

"You are not apt to do first for yourself," said Rufus, with a tender sort of admission-making.

"I am not sure that first for oneself," said the naturalist musing.

"Yes sir — or could one ever do much for the world?"

"Dat is true; you are right!"

"Then at any rate one is to put other people's happiness before one's own?" said Elizabeth with a mixed expression of incredulity and discontent.

"It does not seem just reason, does it?" said Mr. Herder.

"It's what nobody acts up to," said Rose.

"O Miss Cadwallader," said Asahel, — "mother does it always!"

For which he was rewarded with an inexpressible glance, which lit upon nothing, however, but the huckleberries.

"Is that your doctrine, Mr. Winthrop?" said Elizabeth.

"No," he said smiling, — "not mine. Will you sit a little more in the corner, Miss Elizabeth? —"

Elizabeth took up her book again, and gave no token of attention to anything else, good or bad, till the boat neared the rocks of the landing at Shahweetah.

CHAPTER XI.

Thou art a dew-drop which the morn brings forth, Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, Or to be trailed along the soiling earth. WORDSWORTH.

One day in September it chanced that the house was left entirely to the womenkind. Even Asahel had been taken off by his father to help in some light matter which his strength was equal to. Rufus and Winthrop were on the upland, busy with the fall ploughing; and it fell to little Winifred to carry them their dinner.

The doors stood open, as usual, for it was still warm weather, and the rest of the family were all scattered at their several occupations. Miss Cadwallader on the bed, asleep; Karen somewhere in her distant premises out of hearing; Elizabeth sat with her book in the little passage-way by the open front door, screened however by another open door from the keeping- room where Mrs. Landholm sat alone at her sewing. By and by came in Winifred, through the kitchen. She came in and stood by the fireplace silent.

"Well, dear," said the mother looking up from her work, — "did you find them?"

The child's answer was to spring to her side, throw her arms round her neck, and burst into convulsive tears.

"Winifred!" — said Mrs. Landholm, putting an arm round the trembling child, and dropping her work, — "what ails you, dear? — tell me."

The little girl only clung closer to her neck and shook in a passion of feeling, speechless; till the mother's tone became alarmed and imperative.

"It's nothing, mother, it's nothing," she said, clasping her hard, — "only — only —"

The words were lost again in what seemed to be uncontrollable weeping.

"Only what, dear? — what?"

"Winthrop was crying."

And having said that, scarce audibly, Winifred gave way and cried aloud.

"Winthrop crying! — Nonsense, dear, — you were mistaken."

"I wasn't — I saw him."

"What was the matter?"

"I don't know."

"What made you think he was crying?"

"I saw him!" cried the child, who seemed as if she could hardly bear the question and answer.

"You were mistaken, daughter; — he would not have let you see him."

"He didn't — he didn't know I was there."

"Where were you?"

"I was behind the fence —I stopped to look at him — he didn't see me."

"Where was he?"

"He was ploughing."

"What did you see, Winifred?"

"I saw him — oh mamma! — I saw him put his hand to his eyes, — and I saw the tears fall —"

Her little head was pressed against her mother's bosom, and many more tears fell for his than his had been.

Mrs. Landholm was silent a minute or two, stroking Winifred's head and kissing her.

"And when you went into the field, Winifred, — how was he then?"

"Just as always."

"Where was Rufus?"

"He was on the other side."

Again Mrs. Landholm was silent.

"Cheer up, daughter," she said tenderly; — "I think I know what was the matter with Winthrop, and it's nothing so very bad — it'll be set right by and by, I hope. Don't cry any more about it."

"What is the matter with him, mamma?" said the child looking up with eyes of great anxiety and intentness.

"He wants to read and to learn, and I think it troubles him that he can't do that."

"Is that it? But mamma, can't he?" said his sister with a face not at all lightened of its care.

"He can't just now very well —you know he must help papa on the farm."

"But can't he by and by, mamma?"

"I hope so; — we will try to have him," said the mother, while tears gathered now in her grave eyes as her little daughter's were dried. "But you know, dear Winnie, that God knows best what is good for dear Governor, and for us; and we must just ask him to do that, and not what we fancy."

"But mother," said the little girl, "isn't it right for me to ask him to let Winthrop go to school and learn, as he wants to?"

"Yes, daughter," said the mother, bending forward till her face rested on the little brow upturned to her, and the gathered tears falling, — "let us thank God that we may ask him anything — we have that comfort — 'In everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving,' we may make our requests known unto him — only we must be willing after all to have him judge and choose for us."

The child clasped her mother's neck and kissed her again and again.

"Then I won't cry any more, mamma, now that I know what the matter is."

But Elizabeth noticed when Winthrop came in at night, how his little sister attached herself to his side, and with what a loving lip and longing eye.

"Your little sister is very fond of you," she could not help saying, one moment when Winifred had run off.

"Too fond," he said.

"She has a most sensitive organization," said Rufus. "She is too fond of everything that she loves."

"She is not too fond of you," thought Elizabeth, as Winifred came back to her other brother, with some little matter which she thought concerned her and him. "'Sensitive organization!' What queer people these are!"

They were so queer, that Elizabeth thought she would like to see what was the farming work with which their hands were filled and which swallowed up the daily life of these people; and the next day she proposed to go with Winifred when she went the rounds again with her baskets of dinner. Miss Cadwallader was glad of any thing that promised a little variety, so she very willingly made one.

It was a pleasant September day, the great heats gone, a gentler state of the air and the light; summer was just falling gracefully into her place behind the advancing autumn. It was exceeding pleasant walking, through the still air, and Elizabeth and her cousin enjoyed it. But little Winifred was loaded down with two baskets, one in each hand. They went so for some time.

"Winnie," said Elizabeth at last, "give me one of those — I'll carry it."

"O no!" said the little girl looking up in some surprise, — "they're not very heavy — I don't want any help."

"Give it to me; you shan't carry 'em both."

"Then take the other one," said Winifred, — "thank you, Miss Elizabeth — I'm just going to take this in to father, in the field here."

"In the field where? I don't see anybody."

"O because the corn is so high. You'll see 'em directly. This is the bend-meadow lot. Father's getting in the corn."

A few more steps accordingly brought them to a cleared part of the field, where the tall and thick cornstalks were laid on the ground. There, at some distance, they saw the group of workers, picking and husking the yellow corn, the farm wagon standing by. Little Winifred crept under the fence and went to them with her basket, and her companions stood at the fence looking. There were Mr. Landholm, and Asahel, Mr. Doolittle and another man, seen here and there through the rows of corn. Asahel sat by a heap, husking; Mr. Landholm was cutting down stalks; and bushel baskets stood about, empty, or with their yellow burden shewing above the top.

"I should think farmer's work would be pleasant enough," Rose remarked, as they stood leaning over the fence.

"It looks pretty," said Elizabeth. "But I shouldn't like to pull corn from morning to night; and I don't believe you would."

"O, but men have to work, you know," said Miss Cadwallader.

Winifred came back to them and they went on their way, but Elizabeth would not let her take the basket again. It was a pretty way; past the spring where Sam Doolittle had pushed Winthrop in and Rufus had avenged him; and then up the rather steep woody road that led to the plain of the tableland. The trees stood thick, but the ascent was so rapid that they could only in places hinder the view; and as the travellers went up, the river spread itself out more broad, and Shahweetah lay below them, its boundaries traced out as on a map. A more commanding view of the opposite shore, a new sight of the southern mountains, a deeper draught from nature's free cup, they gained as they went up higher and higher. Elizabeth had seen it often before; she looked and drank in silence; though to-day September was peeping between the hills and shaking his sunny hair in the vallies; — not crowned like the receding summer with insupportable brilliants.

"I am sorry papa is coming so soon!" said Elizabeth, after she had stood awhile near the top, looking.

"Why I thought you wanted to go home," said her cousin.

"So I do; — but I don't want to go away from here."

"What do you want to stay for?"

"It is so lovely! —"

"What is so lovely?" asked Miss Cadwallader with a tone of mischief.

Elizabeth turned away and began to walk on, an expression of great disgust upon her face.

"I wish I was blessed with a companion who had three grains of wit!" she said.

Miss Cadwallader's light cloud of ill-humour, it seldom looked more, came on at this; and she pouted till they reached the fence of the ploughed field where the young men were at work. Here Elizabeth gave up her basket to Winifred; and creeping through the bars they all made for the nearest plough. It happened to be Winthrop's.

"What's the matter?" said he as they came up. "Am I wanted for guard or for oarsman?"

"Neither — for nothing," said Elizabeth. "Go on, won't you? I want to see what you are doing."

"Ploughing?" said he. "Have you never seen it?"

He went on and they walked beside him; Winifred laughing, while the others watched, at least Elizabeth did minutely, the process of the share in turning up the soil.

"Is it hard work?" she asked.

"No, not here; not when the business is understood."

"Like rowing, I suppose there is a sleight in it?"

"A good deal so."

"What has been growing here?"

"Corn."

"And now when you get to the fence you must just turn about and make another ridge close along by this one?"

"Yes."

"Goodness! — What's going to be sown here?"

"Wheat."

"And all this work is just to make the ground soft for the seeds!"

"Why wouldn't it do just as well to make holes in the ground and put the seeds in?" said Miss Cadwallader; — "without taking so much trouble?"

"It is not merely to make the ground soft," said Winthrop gravely, while Elizabeth's bright eye glanced at him to mark his behaviour. "The soil might be broken without being so thoroughly turned. If you see, Miss Elizabeth, — the slice taken off by the share is laid bottom upwards."

"I see — well, what is that for?"

"To give it the benefit of the air."

"The benefit of the air! —"

"The air has a sort of enriching and quickening influence upon the soil; — if the land has time and chance, it can get back from the air a great deal of what it lost in the growing of crops."

"The soil loses, then?"

"Certainly; it loses a great deal to some crops."

"What, for instance?"

"Wheat is a great feeder," said Winthrop; "so is Indian corn."

"By its being 'a great feeder', you mean that it takes a great deal of the nourishing quality of the soil?"

"Yes."

"How many things I do not know!" said Elizabeth wistfully.

In the little pause which ensued, Winifred took her chance to say,

"Here's your dinner, Governor."

"Then when the ground is ploughed, is there anything else to be done before it is ready for the wheat?"

"Only harrowing."

Elizabeth mused a little while.

"And how much will the wheat be worth, Winthrop, from all this field?"

"Perhaps two hundred dollars; or two hundred and fifty."

"Two hundred and fifty. — And then the expenses are something."

"Less to us," said Winthrop, "because we do so much of the labour ourselves."

"Here's your dinner, Winthrop," said Winifred; — "shall I set it under the tree?"

"Yes — no, Winifred, — you may leave it here."

"Then stop and eat it now, Governor, won't you? — don't wait any longer."

He gave his little sister a look and a little smile, that told of an entirely other page of his life, folded in with the ploughing experience; a word and look very different from any he had given his questioners. Other indications Elizabeth's eye had caught under 'the tree,' — a single large beech tree which stood by the fence some distance off. Two or three books lay there.

"Do you find time for reading here in the midst of your ploughing, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Not much — sometimes a little in the noon-spell," he answered, colouring slightly.

They left him and walked on to visit Rufus. Elizabeth led near enough to the tree to make sure, what her keen eye knew pretty well already, that one of the books was the very identical old brown-covered Greek and Latin dictionary that she had seen in the boat. She passed on and stood silent by Rufus's plough.

"Well, we've come to see you, Rufus," said Miss Cadwallader.

"I thought you had come to see my brother," said he.

"I didn't come to see either one or the other," said Elizabeth. "I came to see what you are doing."

"I hope you are gratified," said the young man a little tartly.

"What's the use of taking so much trouble to break up the ground?" said Rose.

"Because, unfortunately, there is no way of doing it without trouble," said Rufus, looking unspoken bright things into the furrow at his feet.

"But why couldn't you just make holes in the ground and put the seed in?"

"For a reason that you will appreciate, Miss Rose, if you will put on your bonnet the wrong way, with the front precisely where the back should be."

"I don't understand," — said the young lady, with something of an inclination to pout, Will's face was so full of understanding.

"It isn't necessary that you should understand such a business," he said, becoming grave. "It is our fortune to do it, and it is yours to have nothing to do with it, — which is much better."

"I have the happiness to disagree with you, Mr. Rufus," said Elizabeth.

"In what?"

"In thinking that we have nothing to do with it, or that it is not necessary we should understand it."

"I don't see the happiness, Miss Elizabeth; for your disagreement imposes upon you a necessity which I should think better avoided."

"Which ploughs the best, Rufus?" said Rose; — "you or Winthrop?"

"There is one kind of ploughing," said Rufus biting his lip, "which Winthrop doesn't understand at all."

"And you understand them all, I suppose?"

He didn't answer.

"What is the kind he does not understand, Mr. Rufus?" said Elizabeth.

"Ploughing with another man's heifer."

"Why, what's that, Rufus? I don't know what you mean," said Miss Cadwallader.

No more did Elizabeth, and she had no mind to engage the speaker on unequal terms. She called her cousin off and took the road home, leaving Winifred to speak to her brother and follow at her leisure.

"How different those two people are," she remarked.

"Which one do you like best?"

"Winthrop, a great deal."

"I know you like him the best," said her cousin wilfully.

"Of course you do, for I tell you."

"I don't. I like the other a great deal the best."

"He wasn't very glad to see us," said Elizabeth.

"Why wasn't he? Yes he was. He was as glad as the other one."

"The other one didn't care twopence about it."

"And what did this one care?"

"He cared, —" said Elizabeth.

"Well, I like he should — the other one don't care about anything."

"Yes he does," said Elizabeth.

"I shall give Mr. Haye a hint —that he had better not send you here another summer," said Rose wittily; — "there is no telling what anybody will care for. I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"Can't you be sensible about anything!" said Elizabeth, with a sort of contemptuous impatience. "If I had anybody else to talk to, I would not give you the benefit of my thoughts. I tell them to you because I have nobody else; and I really wish you could make up your mind to answer me as I deserve; — or not at all."

"You are a strange girl," said Miss Cadwallader, when they had walked in company with ill-humour as far as the brow of the hill.

"I am glad you think so."

"You are a great deal too old for your age."

"I am not!" said Elizabeth, who shading her eyes with her hand had again stopped to look over the landscape. "I should be very sorry to think that. You are two years older, Rose, in body, than I am; and ten years older in spirit, this minute."

"Does the spirit grow old faster than the body?" said Rose laughing.

"Yes — sometimes. — How pretty all that is!"

'That' meant the wide view, below and before them, of river and hill and meadow. It was said with a little breath of a sigh, and Elizabeth turned away and began to go down the road.

Winifred gave it as her opinion to her mother privately, after they got home, that Miss Haye was a very ill-behaved young lady.

CHAPTER XII.

The thing we long for, that we are, For one transcendent moment, Before the Present, poor and bare, Can make its sneering comment. Still through our paltry stir and strife Glows down the wished Ideal, And Longing moulds in clay what Life Carves in the marble Real. LOWELL.

Mr. Haye came the latter part of September to fetch his daughter and his charge home; and spent a day or two in going over the farm and making himself acquainted with the river. He was a handsome man, and very comfortable in face and figure. The wave of prosperity had risen up to his very lips, and its ripples were forever breaking there in a succession of easy smiles. He made himself readily at home in the family; with a well-mannered sort of good-humour, which seemed to belong to his fine broadcloth and beautifully plaited ruffles. Mr. Landholm was not the only one who enjoyed his company. Between him and Rufus and Miss Cadwallader and Mr. Haye, the round game of society was kept up with great spirit.

One morning Mr. Haye was resting himself with a book in his daughter's room; he had had a long tramp with the farmer. Rose went out in search of something more amusing. Elizabeth sat over her book for awhile, then looked up.

"Father," she said, "I wish you could do something to help that young man."

"What young man?"

"Winthrop Landholm."

"What does he want help for?"

"He is trying to get an education — trying hard, I fancy," said Elizabeth, putting down her book and looking at her father, — "he wants to make himself something more than a farmer."

"Why should he want to make himself anything more than a farmer?" said Mr. Haye without looking off his book.

"Why would you, sir?"

"I would just as lief be a farmer as anything else," said Mr. Haye, "if I had happened to be born in that line. It's as good a way of life as any other."

"Why, father! — You would rather be what you are now?"

"Well — I wasn't born a farmer," said Mr. Haye conclusively.

"Then you would have everybody stay where he happens to be!"

"I wouldn't have anything about it," said Mr. Haye. "That's what I want for myself —let other people do what they will."

"But some people can't do what they will."

"Well —Be thankful you're not one of 'em."

"Father, if I can have what I will, I would have you help this young man."

"I don't know how to help him, child; — he's not in my way. If he wanted to go into business, there would be something in it, but I have nothing to do with schools and Colleges."

Elizabeth's cheek lit up with one of the prettiest colours a woman's cheek ever wears, — the light of generous indignation.

"I wish I had the means!" she said.

"What would you do with it?"

"I would help him, somehow."

"My dear, you could not do it; they would not let you; their pride would stand in the way of everything of the kind."

"I don't believe it," said Elizabeth, the fire of her eye shining now through drops that made it brighter; — "I am sure something could be done."

"It's just as well undone," said Mr. Haye calmly.

"Why, sir?" — his daughter asked almost fiercely.

"What put this young fellow's head upon Colleges, and all that?"

"I don't know, sir! — how should I?"

"It won't last — it's just a freak to be a great man and get out of hob-nailed shoes — he'll get over it; and much better he should. It's much better he should stay here and help his father, and that's what he's made for. He'll never be anything else."

Mr. Haye threw down his book and left the room; and his daughter stood at the window with her heart swelling.

"He will be something else, and he'll not get over it," she said to herself, while her eyes were too full to let her see a single thing outside the window. "He is fit for something else, and he will have it, hard or easy, short or long; and I hope he will! — and oh, I wish father had done what would be for his honour in this thing! —"

There was a bitter taste to the last sentence, and tears would not wash it out. Elizabeth was more superb than ordinary that night at supper, and had neither smiles nor words for anybody.

A day or two after they were going away.

"Winthrop," she said at parting, (not at all by familiarity, but because she did not in common grant them a right to any title whatsoever) — "may I leave you my little Merry-go-round? — and will you let nobody have the charge of it except yourself?"

He smiled and thanked her.

"'Tisn't much thanks," she said; meaning thanks' worth. "It is I who have to thank you."

For she felt that she could not send any money to the boy who had taken care of her horse.

The family party gathered that night round the supper-table with a feeling of relief upon several of them. Mr. Landholm's face looked satisfied, as of a man who had got a difficult job well over; Mrs. Landholm's took time to be tired; Winthrop's was as usual, though remembering with some comfort that there would not be so many wantings of fish, nor so many calls upon his strength of arm for boat exercise. Rufus was serious and thoughtful; the children disposed to be congratulatory.

"It's good I can sit somewhere but on the corner," said Asahel, — "and be by ourselves."

"It's good I can have my old place again," said Winifred, "and sit by Governor."

Her brother rewarded her by drawing up her chair and drawing it closer.

"I am glad they are gone, for your sake, mamma," he said.

"Well, we haven't made a bad summer of it," said Mr. Landholm.

His wife thought in her secret soul it had been a busy one. Winthrop thought it had been a barren one. Rufus — was not ready to say quite that.

"Not a bad summer," repeated Mr. Landholm. "The next thing is to see what we will do with the winter."

"Or what the winter will do with us," said Rufus after a moment.

"If you like it so," said his father; "but I prefer the other mode of putting it. I'd keep the upper hand of time always; — I speak it reverently."

Winthrop thought how completely the summer had got the better of him.

"My friend Haye is a good fellow — a good fellow. I like him. He and I were always together in the legislature. He's a sensible man."

"He is a gentleman," said Rufus.

"Ay — Well, he has money enough to be. That don't always do it, though. A man and his coat aren't always off the same piece. Those are nice girls of his, too; — pretty girls. That Rose is a pretty creature! — I don't know but I like t'other one as well in the long run though, — come to know her."

"I do — better," said Mrs. Landholm. "There is good in her."

"A sound stock, only grown a little too rank," said Winthrop.

"Yes, that's it. She's a little overtopping. Well, there will come a drought by and by that will cure that."

"Why sir?" said Rufus.

"The odds are that way," said his father. "'Taint a stand- still world, this; what's up to-day is down to-morrow. Mr. Haye may hold his own, though; and I am sure I hope he will — for his sake and her sake, both."

"He is a good business man, isn't he, sir?"

"There aint a better business man, I'll engage, than he is, in the whole city of Mannahatta; and that numbers now, — sixty odd thousand, by the last census. He knows how to take care of himself, as well as any man I ever saw."

"Then he bids fair to stand?"

"I don't believe anybody bids fairer. He was trying to make a business man of you, wa'n't he, the other day?"

"He was saying something about it."

"Would you like that?"

"Not in the first place, sir."

"No. Ah well — we'll see, — we'll see," said Mr. Landholm rising up; — "we'll try and do the best we can."

What was that? A question much mooted, by different people and in very different moods; but perhaps most anxiously and carefully by the father and mother. And the end was, that he would borrow money of somebody, — say of Mr. Haye, — and they would let both the boys go that fall to College. If this were not the best, it was the only thing they could do; so it seemed to them, and so they spoke of it. How the young men were to be kept at College, no mortal knew; the father and mother did not; but the pressure of necessity and the strength of will took and carried the whole burden. The boys must go; they should go; and go they did.

In a strong yearning that the minds of their children should not lack bread, in the self-denying love that would risk any hardship to give it them, — the father and mother found their way plain if not easy before them. If his sons were to mount to a higher scale of existence and fit themselves for nobler work in life than he had done, his shoulders must thenceforth bear a double burden; but they were willing to bear it. She must lose, not only, the nurtured joys of her hearthstone, but strain every long-strained nerve afresh to keep them where she could not see and could but dimly enjoy them; but she was willing. There were no words of regret; and thoughts of sorrow lay with thoughts of love at the bottom of their hearts, too fast-bound together and too mighty to shew themselves except in action.

The money was borrowed easily, upon a mortgage of the farm. President Tuttle was written to, and a favourable answer received. There was a foundation at Shagarack, as well as at Mannahatta; and Will and Winthrop could be admitted there on somewhat easier terms than were granted to those who could afford better. Some additions were made to their scanty wardrobe from Mr. Cowslip's store; and at home unwearied days and nights were given to making up the new, and renewing and refurbishing the old and the worn. Old socks were re-toed and refooted; old trousers patched so that the patch could not be seen; the time-telling edges of collars and wristbands done over, so that they would last awhile yet; mittens knitted, and shirts made. It was a little wardrobe when all was done; yet how much time and care had been needed to bring it together. It was a dear one too, though it had cost little money; for it might almost be said to have been made of the heart's gold. Poor Winifred's love was less wise than her mother's, for it could not keep sorrow down. As yet she did not know that it was not better to sit at her father's board end than at either end of the highest form at Shagarack. She knitted, socks and stockings, all the day long, when her mother did not want her; but into them she dropped so many tears that the wool was sometimes wet with them; and as Karen said, half mournfully and half to hide her mourning, "they wouldn't want shrinking." Winthrop came in one day and found her crying in the chimney corner, and taking the half-knit stocking from her hand he felt her tears in it.

"My little Winnie! —" he said, in that voice with which he sometimes spoke his whole heart.

Winifred sprang to his neck and closing her arms there, wept as if she would weep her life away. And Rufus who had followed Winthrop in, stood beside them, tear after tear falling quietly on the hearth. Winthrop's tears nobody knew but Winifred, and even in the bitterness of her distress she felt and tasted them all.

The November days seemed to grow short and drear with deeper shadows than common, as the last were to see the boys go off for Shagarack. The fingers that knitted grew more tremulous, and the eyes that wrought early and late were dim with more than weariness; but neither fingers nor eyes gave themselves any holiday. The work was done at last; the boxes were packed; those poor little boxes! They were but little, and they had seen service already. Of themselves they told a story. And they held now, safely packed up, the College fit-out of the two young men.

"I wonder if Shagarack is a very smart place, mamma?" said Winifred, as she crouched beside the boxes watching the packing.

"Why?"

Winifred was silent and looked thoughtfully into the box.

"Rufus and Governor will not care if it is."

"They needn't care," said Asahel, who was also at the box- side. "They can bear to be not quite so smart as other folks. Mr. Haye said he never saw such a pair of young men; and I guess he didn't."

Winifred sighed and still looked into the box, with a face that said plainly she would like to have them smart.

"O well, mamma," she said presently, "I guess they will look pretty nice, with all those new things; and the socks are nice, aren't they? If it was only summer — nobody can look nicer than Winthrop when he has his white clothes on."

"It will be summer by and by," said Mrs. Landholm.

The evening came at last; the supper was over; and the whole family drew together round the fire. It was not a very talkative evening. They looked at each other more than they spoke; and they looked at the fire more than they did either. At last Mr. Landholm went off, recommending to all of them to go to bed. Asahel, who had been in good spirits on the matter all along, followed his father. The mother and daughter and the two boys were left alone round the kitchen fire.

They were more silent than ever then, for a good space; and four pair of eyes were bent diligently on the rising and falling flames. Only Winifred's sometimes wandered to the face of one or the other of her brothers, but they never could abide long. It was Mrs. Landholm's gentle voice that broke the silence.

"What mark are you aiming at, boys? — what are you setting before you as the object of life?"

"What mark, mother?" said Rufus after an instant's pause.

"Yes."

"To make something of myself!" he said rising, and with that fire-flashing nostril and lip that spoke his whole soul at work. "I have a chance now, and it will go hard but I will accomplish it."

The mother's eye turned to her other son.

"I believe I must say the same, mother," he replied gravely. "I have perhaps some notion of doing, afterwards; but the first thing is to be myself what I can be. I am not, I feel, a tithe of that now."

"I agree with you — you are right, so far," answered the mother, turning her face again to the fire; — "but in the end, what is it you would do, and would be?"

"Profession, do you mean, mamma?" said Rufus.

"No," she said; and he needed not to ask any more.

"I mean, what is all this for? — what purpose lies behind all this?"

"To distinguish myself!" said Rufus, — "if I can, — in some way."

"I am afraid it is no better than that with me, mother," said Winthrop; "though perhaps I should rather say my desire is to be distinguished."

"What's the difference?" said his brother.

"I don't know. I think I feel a difference."

"I am not going to preach to you now," said Mrs. Landholm, and yet the slight failing of her voice did it — how lastingly! — "I cannot, — and I need not. Only one word. If you sow and reap a crop that will perish in the using, what will you do when it is gone? — and remember it is said of the redeemed, that their works do follow them. Remember that. — One word more," she said after a pause. "Let me have it to say in that day, — 'Of all which thou gavest me have I lost none'! —"

Not preach to them? And what was her hidden face and bowed head? — a preaching the like of which they were never to hear from mortal voices. But not a word, not a lisp, fell from one of them. Winifred had run off; the rest hardly stirred; till Mrs. Landholm rose up, and gravely kissing one and the other prepared to leave the room.

"Where is Winifred?" said her brother suddenly missing her.

"I don't know. I am sure she is somewhere praying for you."

They said no more, even to each other, that night.

Nor much the next day. It was the time for doing, not thinking. There was not indeed much to do, except to get off; but that seemed a great deal. It was done at last. Mrs. Landholm from the window of the kitchen watched them get into the wagon and drive off; and then she sat down by the window to cry.

Asahel had gone to ride as far as the mountain's foot with his father and brothers; and Winifred knelt down beside her mother to lean her head upon her; they could not get near enough just then. It was only to help each other weep, for neither could comfort the other nor be comforted, for a time. Yet the feeling of the two, like as it seemed outwardly, was far unlike within. In the child it was the spring flood of a little brook, bringing, to be sure, momentary desolation; in the mother it was the flow of the great sea, still and mighty. And when it grew outwardly quiet, the same depth was there.

They got into each other's arms at last, and pressed cheek to cheek and kissed each other many times; but the first word was Mrs. Landholm's, saying,

"Come — we had better go and get tea — Asahel will be back directly."

Asahel came back in good spirits, having had his cry on the road, and they all took tea with what cheerfulness they might. But after tea Winifred sat in the chimney corner gazing into the fire, very still and pale and worn-looking; her sober blue eyes intently fixed on something that was not there. Very intently, so that it troubled her mother; for Winifred had not strength of frame to bear strong mind-working. She watched her.

"What, mamma?" said the little girl with a half start, as a hand was laid gently and remindingly upon her shoulder.

"I should rather ask you what," said her mother tenderly. "Rest, daughter, can't you?"

"I wasn't worrying, mamma."

"Wa'n't you?"

"I was thinking of 'They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"

"Why, dear?"

"I am so glad I can wash mine, mother."

"Yes — Why, my dear child?"

"There are so many spots on them."

Her mother stooped down beside her and spoke cheerfully.

"What are you thinking of now, Winnie?"

"Only, mamma, I am glad to think of it," she said, nestling her sunny little head in her mother's neck. "I wanted yesterday that Will and Governor should have better clothes."

"Well, Winnie, I wanted it too — I would have given them better if I had had them."

"But mamma, ought I to have wished that?"

"Why yes, dear Winnie; it is a pleasant thing to have comfortable clothes, and it is right to wish for them, provided we can be patient when we don't get them. But still I think dear Governor and Will will be pretty comfortable this winter. We will try to make them so."

"Yes mamma, —but I wanted them to be smart."

"It is right to be smart, Winnie, if we aren't too smart."

"I wish I could be always just right, mamma."

"The rightest thing will be for you to go to sleep," said her mother, kissing her eyes and cheeks. "I'll be through my work directly and then you shall sit in my lap and rest — I don't want to sew to-night. Winnie, the good Shepherd will gather my little lamb with his arm and carry her in his bosom, if she minds his voice; and then he will bring her by and by where she shall walk with him in white, and there will be no spots on the white any more."

"I know. Make haste, mother, and let us sit down together and talk."

So they did, with Asahel at their feet; but they didn't talk much. They kept each other silent and soft companionship, till Winifred's breathing told that she had lost her troubles in sleep on her mother's bosom.

"Poor little soul! she takes it hard," said Karen. "She's 'most as old as her mother now."

"You must get her to play with you, Asahel, as much as you can," Mrs. Landholm said in a whisper.

"Why mamma? aint she well?"

"I don't know — I'm afraid she wont keep so."

"She's too good to be well," said Karen.

Which was something like true. Not in the vulgar prejudice, as Karen understood it. It was not Winifred's goodness which threatened her well-being; but the very delicate spirits which answered too promptly and strongly every touch; too strong in their acting for a bodily frame in like manner delicate.

CHAPTER XIII.

Mess. — He hath indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect me to tell you how. Leon. — He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Mr. Landholm came back in excellent spirits from Shagarack. The boys were well entered, Will Junior and Winthrop Sophomore, and with very good credit to themselves. This had been their hope and intention, with the view of escaping the cost of one and two years of a college life. President Tuttle had received them very kindly, and everything was promising; the boys in good heart, and their father a proud man.

"Aint it queer, now," he said that evening of his return, as he sat warming his hands before the blaze, "aint it queer that those two fellows should go in like that — one Junior and t'other Sophomore, and when they've had no chance at all beforehand, you may say. Will has been a little better, to be sure; but how on earth Winthrop ever prepared himself I can't imagine. Why the fellow read off Greek there, and I didn't know he had ever seen a word of it."