“Where is the bellows?” said Charlton
in another tone.
“It has expired—its last breath,”
said Fleda. “In other words, it has lost
its nose.”
“Well, look here,” said he laughing and
pulling her away,—“you will stand
a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in
the fire. You sha’n’t do it.
Come and shew me where to find the scattered parts
of that old wind instrument and I will see if it cannot
be persuaded to play again.”
I dinna ken what I should want
If I could get but a man.
Scotch Ballad.
Capt. Rossitur did no work at the saw-mill.
But Fleda’s words had not fallen to the ground.
He began to shew care for his fellow-creatures in
getting the bellows mended; his next step was to look
to his gun; and from that time so long as he staid
the table was plentifully supplied with all kinds
of game the season and the country could furnish.
Wild ducks and partridges banished pork and bacon
even from memory; and Fleda joyfully declared she
would not see another omelette again till she was
in distress.
While Charlton was still at home came a very urgent
invitation from Mrs. Evelyn that Fleda should pay
them a long visit in New York, bidding her care for
no want of preparation but come and make it there.
Fleda demurred, however, on that very score.
But before her answer was written, another missive
came from Dr. Gregory, not asking so much as demanding
her presence, and enclosing a fifty-dollar bill, for
which he said he would hold her responsible till she
had paid him with,—not her own hands,—but
her own lips. There was no withstanding the manner
of this entreaty. Fleda packed up some of Mrs.
Rossitur’s laid-by silks, to be refreshed with
an air of fashion, and set off with Charlton at the
end of his furlough.
To her simple spirit of enjoyment the weeks ran fast;
and all manner of novelties and kindnesses helped
them on. It was a time of cloudless pleasure.
But those she had left thought it long. She wrote
them how delightfully she kept house for the old doctor,
whose wife had long been dead, and how joyously she
and the Evelyns made time fly. And every pleasure
she felt awoke almost as strong a throb in the hearts
at home. But they missed her, as Barby said,
“dreadfully;” and she was most dearly
welcomed when she came back. It was just before
New Year.
For half an hour there was most gladsome use of eyes
and tongues. Fleda had a great deal to tell them.
“How well—how well you are looking,
dear Fleda!” said her aunt for the third or
fourth time.
“That’s more than lean say for you and
Hugh, aunt Lucy. What have you been doing to
yourself?”
“Nothing new,” they said, as her eye went
from one to the other.
“I guess you have wanted me!” said Fleda,
shaking her head as she kissed them both again.
“I guess we have,” said Hugh, “but
don’t fancy we have grown thin upon the want.”
